A Crow's Devotion
by Eve Hawke
Summary: He'd been prepared to lay his heart at her feet, but when Leliana refused him, Zevran's world broke into pieces. A certain blonde warrior from Denerim's Alienage can heal his bleeding heart, however. Based in the Lyraverse; a spinoff following Zevran. New chapters released as needed to augment "Seeds of the Future". M for intimacy, language and adult themes. Cover by EkoCentric!
1. The Firebird

_**A/N:** This is a spinoff fic, based in the "Lyra Cousland" universe. If you have read **"The Teyrn's Daughter and the King's Son"** and **"Seeds of the Future"**, you will be familiar with the characters mentioned herein. This story will follow Zevran in that universe, and new chapters will be released concurrently with "Seeds of the Future" as needed to further flesh out Zevran's personal storyline. _

_With that said, if you are not familiar with those stories, you might be a touch confused as to what's going on here. For those who would like to follow this fic independently of those stories, I will do my best to add in enough explanation to keep it clear without having to rehash too many details. I hope you enjoy. :-) _

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**Chapter 1**_  
_**The Firebird**

She'd returned. At last, after months, his firebird had flown back to the nest. Leliana was _home_.

Zevran had never expected to fall for her. He'd intended a single night of pleasure, nothing more. From the moment he'd met her, there was attraction, but when he'd learned that she preferred women to men, he'd been intrigued. Could he turn this vixen?

They'd been friendly, had conversed at length, had discovered many things in common. He'd begun to seek Leliana out, above and beyond their other companions, for the sheer pleasure of her company. And then, just when he'd thought it wouldn't, it had happened.

_"I have always detested a man's face... who wants to be rubbed raw while kissing? Your face is... as soft as a woman's, Zev..." Leliana said, and leaned forward to brush her lips along his jawline._

Of course, by the time he'd snagged her, his feelings were more than casual. Somehow, the hunter had turned prey, though he doubted Leliana had intended to capture him. He'd kept her words in his memory, convincing himself that he was _different,_ that she _could _feel the same way he felt, even if he wasn't her traditional choice.

The weeks that followed were nothing short of wonderful. He'd never felt like this - not since Rinna, and even that paled in comparison, now.

Before she'd gone, he'd offered her his earring, and she'd turned him down, saying that she needed time to think. He'd wondered a bit at her decision to go with Lyra and Alistair on their honeymoon. It was true, the Wardens had requested that Wynne accompany them, and knowing now that Lyra was expecting, it only made sense that they'd wanted the healer with them. Leliana had told him she was going purely to keep Wynne company. But a small part of him doubted, was sure that she'd left because of _him_.

So, now that she was back, he needed to talk to her.

Zevran strode down the hall, palms sweating. Her door was the fourth on the left... he raised a hand, knocked, waited, his heart pounding.

The door cracked open, Leliana's brilliant hair shining in the lamplight. "Zevran…"

"May I come in?"

That beautiful face took on a guarded look. "I am quite tired-"

"I will not take much of your time," Zevran insisted, edging closer to the entry. "Please…"

With a slow nod, Leliana pushed open the door, sidling away to allow the assassin into her room. Zevran stepped through; his senses overwhelmed for a moment by the scent of her… the sweetness of Andraste's Grace, that was his Leliana. Always did she smell like this – he'd teased her about it on more than one occasion. Many women used perfumes, oils, adorning their bodies with fragrance to allure men and captivate the mind. His firebird never seemed to bother with these things, and yet the scent clung to her, light as the air. More than once, it had made him dizzy. Now, with her so close after their long separation, it threatened to bring him to his knees.

Leliana's pack sat in one corner, half unloaded, her bedroll spilling from its ties. The lute she'd received from Alistair was propped on the bed, resting upon a pillow – a place of honor. The instrument itself wasn't all that special, and yet in Leliana's capable hands it became a work of art. She could stir the very soul with her music, the poetry that fell from her lips as shining as silver, the fluting lilt of her voice more breathtaking than a nightingale…

Leliana shut the door behind him. "What is it, Zevran?"

Not 'Zev', no. Not now. Now it was 'Zevran'. His eyes pressed shut, the pain of that realization burning a hole into his heart. "So formal, my firebird?" He kept his words light, forcing a smile. "I thought we meant more to each other than that."

Leliana turned her face away, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. So shapely, those fingertips – made to coax a tune from the crudest instrument, or bring the flush of goosebumps to her lover's skin. The thought made his mouth go dry, a hollowness pitting his stomach. If he could only _tell_ her – make her see how much she meant to him. Surely she would change her mind.

"Tell me of your journey." He settled himself into a chair, throwing one leg over an arm, his hands clasped over his abdomen. "Something very exciting must have happened, to bring Lyra to Denerim's gates at sunrise, and without her handsome Templar in tow."

"Darkspawn," Leliana said as she sat upon the bed, and told him the story of their last few days, ending with a sigh. "She's frightened, and I don't blame her. This child is the hope of Ferelden. The idea that he or she will be hunted is _not _comforting – and what's worse, we have no idea why."

"And yet she spoke with me earlier about the security for a Satinalia ball," Zevran said, one eyebrow lifting. "Will it not be dangerous for the nobility to travel to Denerim for such a frivolous event?"

Leliana shrugged, a passive smile playing over her lips. "Life goes on, does it not? And it was her mother's tradition."

"Perhaps," Zevran mused. "Or perhaps she needs a distraction."

They sat in silence for a moment, the fire snapping in the background. Leliana took up her lute, fingering the strings. "You did not come here to ask me about Lyra's plans for Satinalia."

"No?"

"Zevran, I _know_ you," Leliana said softly. "And you know me. Must we dance like this?"

Swallowing, he basked in her presence, afraid of what the next few moments might hold. Leliana possessed wisdom beyond her years, a depth that most women lacked, even if she delighted in playing the vapid innocent. It was a game he knew well – people tended to look past those who seemed of little threat. Assassins lived longer if they could blend. They lived even longer if they could observe, and his firebird outstripped any he'd ever worked with – or even known. Truly, she was a woman of many talents, with the body of a goddess, the face of an Orlesian noble, and the heart of a Chantry priestess.

Throughout their travels, Leliana had claimed his being, sewing him up piece by piece until he was bound more firmly than he'd ever thought possible. He'd felt this way once, but that had faded - Rinna was a memory, nothing more. Leliana was his world now, the light that awoke him each morning, the shining star he wished to look on as he fell asleep each night. With Leliana at his side, he would live a happy man, more blessed than one of his ilk had ever dared dream of.

What would he do, if she refused him?

"Leliana," he began, his voice rough with longing. "You cannot know how I have missed you."

A flush rouged her cheeks, and she studied her lute. "I have missed you too. But we must talk of this."

He rose, risking a step toward her. "Please… I would sit beside you."

Those crystal eyes clouded, but she set the lute aside and gestured to the bed, tucking one leg beneath her body. As if she were a mouse who might startle, Zevran kept his movements slow, cautious. She watched, so guarded, as he lowered to her side, drawing her hand away when he touched it with his fingertips.

"Zev…" she whispered, the sound so filled with pain he hated himself for it. Had he the ability, he would change his name, turn it to something more pleasing… laughter should be the only thing to touch those satin lips.

"Leliana…" There was no more control. It was a muted groan that echoed as he swooped in, unable to take another moment. If he could only taste her, he could show her – pour the well of his love into her, prove just how much he needed her, how much she meant to him. She'd become his drug, and the withdrawal had gone on for too long.

She gasped as their lips melded, his fingers carding through her hair, her heady scent swirling around him as he breathed her in. Mother of Mercy, how he'd missed this! Her lashes brushed his cheek as he glided his tongue along her lips, pleading for entry. How many nights had they spent together, beginning just like this, with a simple kiss? Her hands rose to wrap around his wrists, and then he was shoved back, unfiltered shock widening her cerulean eyes.

"Zevran, no-"

"Please, my firebird," he begged. "I-"

She placed a soft finger against his mouth. "You can't, Zevran. Please. _Please_!"

"No, Leliana, I must say it." Zevran's voice cracked, as inelegant as a raw boy, but there it was – in her hands, he became innocent once more. His fingers closed with hers, his skin thrilling to their touch. "I cannot be without you. When you left, my world stopped." She'd gone still as stone, fear pinching her eyes. Zevran squeezed her hand, tumbling the words out before she could halt them. "I thought this would be little more than a passing diversion, a way for us both to take the pleasure we needed, with little need for anything else. We promised nothing, but that is no longer my desire."

"Zev, no-"

"Among the Crows, love is nothing but an illusion for those too blind to see," he uttered, his voice lowering with meaning. "I was trained to make my heart cold, in favor of the kill. But you, my firebird..." he raised one hand to caress her cheek. "You have warmed me in ways I did not know I ached for. Say the word, and I am yours. Please, Leliana. If you will just give me a chance, let me _prove_ my devotion to you-"

One hand flew to cover her mouth, a choking sob held back. Shaking violently, she sprang to her feet and sprinted across the room. Zevran's heart crumbled as he watched her fumble with the door handle. Throat burning, he rose to give chase, speeding after her as she flung it open to make her escape.

Leliana tore down the stairs, and Zevran halted just outside the door, his gaze following her as she fled. His eyes fell shut, heart withering... her choice was clear, and he wouldn't hound her. Just how many times would he let this woman make a fool of him? No. He was done.

Dragging himself into the hall, he shut the door behind him, unsure of what to do now. Perhaps he should seek Oghren… some of that brew that Alistair had tried one night might just knock him out for months. If he were lucky, when he awoke this sick twisting in his stomach would be gone, and his body would no longer feel as though it were aflame – the memory of her sultry lips warring with the knowledge that she'd rejected him so thoroughly.

When he turned to go in search of the dwarf, it was with a sinking heart that he saw Lyra standing in her robe in the hallway, clear witness to her best friend's flight, and with his rock-bottom luck, having heard every word.

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_**A/N the deuce:** Thanks so much to my lovely betas - FenZev, csorciere, and Jaden Anderson! These lovelies made sure Zev sounded like Zev, and polished this chapter to a soft sheen. Heart you, darlings!_


	2. The Warrior

_A/N: Thanks to FenZev for her beta of this chapter. :-) _

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**Chapter 2  
The Warrior**

Zevran tossed back another swallow of ale, grimacing at the taste. No matter how many times he allowed Oghren to talk him into an evening at the Pearl, he never enjoyed it. The ale was sour, and Sanga's prostitutes had nothing he was interested in. Not that he was really that willing to pay for his bedmates - he'd ever been blessed with the ability to sweet-talk his way between most pairs of legs. Why pay for the cow, when the milk came free? But aside from that, he'd had no wish to tangle blankets with anyone, paid or otherwise. Not lately.

"Evening, Zevran," Silla purred, trailing one sultry hand over his shoulders. She slung herself across his lap, straddling his legs as she flashed her biggest smile. Zevran's eyes darted around the room - with this simple move, Silla had captured the attention of every worker the Pearl had.

"Silla, my sweet," Zevran chuckled. "How is your mother?"

"Oh, Zev," the girl pouted. "Don't go all brother-ish on me." Her reddened lips touched his cheek, the scent of azaleas washing over him. "Mother is well. You were sweet to send that healer."

"Think nothing of it." Zevran shifted her from his lap, but Silla clung, bringing her bosom dangerously close to his nose.

"Zev... you promised," she breathed, grazing her teeth over his ear. He grimaced, realizing that most of the inn's workers had slowed in their tasks and were watching them. Normally an audience didn't bother him, but there was more here than simple voyeurism...

"What did you bet, Silla?" he murmured, laying one obvious hand over her breast and giving a squeeze. What the girl wanted was a show. Even as his fingers lingered by the lace she'd stretched over her ample bosom, the room's attention waned, and Silla's mouth tugged into a triumphant smile.

"Just that you would kiss me," she whispered, nibbling on his jaw. "Will you? Please? You never kiss any of us."

Zevran clucked his tongue at her. "Silla, my darling..." He brushed his lips over her cheek, then bent her backward, slanting over her as his arm cradled her lower back. She curved back, her head nearly touching the floor as he skimmed his lips over her breasts. Oghren's lascivious chuckle brought an amused smile to his lips. "Do not make a bet you cannot win," he breathed, then tugged on her neckline with his teeth.

Silla scowled as he raised her up once more, huffing as she flounced off to find another customer.

"Sometimes I think they'd pay _you_ to get ya between their legs," Oghren grumbled, draining his tankard before slamming it to the table and bellowing for a refill. Zevran chuckled. The dwarf had no clue how true that statement really was. Sanga had _actually_ tried to hire him on as a consultant to improve her workers' skills. After the initial surprise, he'd been tempted - for about a minute. But then the thought had only exhausted him. Perhaps he was simply getting old. In Antiva, had he been offered an unlimited supply of enthusiastic men and women under the pretext of "teaching", he might never have left. _This country has changed me_, Zevran pondered as he sipped from his cup.

Oghren giggled, one unsteady finger pointing at a small elven lass with luxurious red hair. "Her. I'm gonna ask Sanga for _her_."

"Scarlet? She_ is_ a beauty." Zevran spun his cup in long, calloused fingers. In times past, he'd been forced to file the roughness from his hands, smooth them with sandstone to baby softness in the name of a part he would play. And then would come the building back up, weeks of discomfort as the callouses re-formed. Blisters and bleeding skin had been a small price to pay for survival in his world. Being small and beautiful, he'd been sent on more than a few jobs that uglier, burlier men would not have suited. It had given him an edge, one that he'd used to claw his way up in the ranks of the Crows.

_I could go back_, he mused, recalling the day he'd earned his second stripe - the mark of one with influence, one skilled in love and death both. _Though a cleaner escape has likely never been made from the Crows... I'd be begging for the knife if I returned to Antiva now. _Rinna's death had affected him deeply. Knowing what he'd done to her, realizing that he meant nothing, that no one would miss him if he died - it had robbed him of any desire to keep breathing.

But that had changed when Leliana had kept Alistair's blade from severing his head from his neck. He'd returned to life, discovered what family meant, what love could be. Rinna had been a gem, but there were other gems in the world. Leliana had taught him that.

_And then she broke my heart_, he thought, gripping the tankard. A grimace twisted his lips as her memory reopened wounds he thought he'd sealed shut. But this wasn't the end - not even close. If he'd learned anything from his Wardens, it was that people could heal, that life could go on. And he had no intention of letting this be the thing that ended him.

Of course, seeing the pretty bard around the castle wasn't helping any. What he really needed was something to keep him away from the palace entirely... but the guards still needed training. Once he was happy with the protection they could offer, he could go, leave this city behind and find somewhere warmer, with less dog-smell. Maybe he'd find Isabela, sail with her awhile. Surely she could use a deft pair of hands below... deck.

He'd been doing his best to stay out of Leliana's way. Since Alistair had returned, Lyra had been happily distracted, and the rulers were now settling into their new daily routine. Leliana was at loose ends... when she wasn't at the chantry, she could usually be found in the training yard, which was normally where _he_ was. Much as he tried to ignore her, the palace walls grew smaller every day, her presence weighing on him like a millstone 'round his neck.

"Which one you want? My treat," Oghren offered, signaling Sanga. The proprietress hurried over, a bright smile on her face. The dwarf was one of her best customers.

The idea of allowing Oghren to buy him a whore, the way one man might buy another a drink - it turned Zevran's stomach. "No, my friend, but thank you. Enjoy yourself." He slid from the chair, dropping a few coins on the table to pay for the sorry excuse for ale. "Shall I return for you in a few hours, or will you be sober enough to recall the route back to the palace?"

"Nah, go home," Oghren grumbled, but offered his hand to Zevran. "Don't get too broody, elf."

Zevran chuckled as he shook Oghren's hand, then slipped out the tavern doors before he could witness the dwarf leering at Scarlet. If what he'd heard was true, Oghren had yet to _actually_ have sex with any of the prostitutes - he liked to cuddle, apparently. Though Zevran would die before he'd reveal the blustering warrior's supposed weaknesses.

The night was cold, with a hint of frost in the air that bit his cheeks. It wouldn't be much longer before he needed more than a light cloak to venture out into the evening.

Zevran wandered, not willing to go back to the palace just yet... his friends were likely gathered in the small parlor that adjoined Alistair and Lyra's room, listening to Leliana play her lute. His heart twanged, wishing he dared join in the homey scene, but watching her play, seeing the light shimmer on her hair and her delicate fingers make love to the strings... no. He couldn't do it. Maybe eventually, but not now.

His feet carried him over the bridge, and though he seemed not to be paying attention, he was more than aware of the small nightlife that occurred around him. When he heard the tell-tale thump of boots on stone, he slipped into a shadow, wrapping the darkness around him and holding his breath. The night's watch tromped by, unaware that a rogue elf observed them from a sheltering doorway. After nearly being tossed into the Alienage on one unfortunate occasion, Zevran had learned not to let them see him. It simply made things easier.

Once the guards had gone, he continued his rambling walk, his feet leading him of their own volition to a spot he'd discovered earlier in the week. A particular building, whose owner delighted in stacking empty crates against the side wall... Zevran shook his head, wondering if the shopkeeper knew just how easy he was making it for potential thieves to access his roof.

Nimble as a mountain goat, Zevran climbed, scaling the path to the flattened roof with ease. Seconds later, he had an unobstructed view of the city, his breath pluming into the chilled night air as he settled back against the wall.

Being alone was the very thing he craved, and it was with a sigh of relief that he stared up at the moon, allowing himself the privilege of wallowing in his misery. The heartache... well, it _ached_, and he worried the feeling like a sore tooth. Shoving the feelings down did nothing to cure them. So, he inspected them instead, held each one up to the light and analyzed it, hoping this would be the way to force Leliana from his heart. It might have been two hours, or possibly longer, but Zevran had fallen into a doze when the sound of a scream jolted his chin from his chest.

Giving his head a quick shake, he launched himself at the low wall that surrounded the rooftop, seeking the source of the scream. Intense eyes scanned the city, coming to settle upon the alienage and the budding conflict therein. His building butted right up against the elven section of the city, and he could see _everything _with perfect ease.

He squinted, as if doing so would sharpen his hearing - the words being said were difficult to make out. From what he could _see_, however, a young, redheaded lass had been cornered by two much larger creatures - males, he assumed. And from their height, they didn't look to be elven.

Zevran scanned the ground, looking for a good place to land. Though he didn't relish the idea of jumping from this height, he'd pulled it off in the past, and it would be faster than climbing down and circling the city to enter the Alienage in the traditional way. He'd just settled on his route and had tensed to spring, when a new voice halted him in his tracks.

Her words were faint with no wind to carry them, but the voice caroled high and clear as a bell, confident and challenging. Zevran's eyes widened, his head whipping toward the sound even as the redhead's attackers also looked toward the newcomer.

Lithe, tall for her kind, adorned in worn leathers, she held a battle-ready pose in the light of the moon. The sword she gripped was nothing special, and yet she posed with the agility of a talented warrior, unafraid of death because death never came close. A faint breeze happened by, bringing the redhead's shriek to his ears. _"Kallian!"_

The men pulled daggers and rushed her, and Zevran's breath caught at the clash of blades that filled the silent night. She pivoted, whirling and striking, quick as a snake and twice as slippery. The redhead cowered, slanting against a wall as her hand fell against a gray, weathered plank that had come loose. Scrabbling, she wrenched it free and dove into the fray, shrieking like a banshee as she swung her improvised weapon. The redhead had _no_ skill to speak of, but her wild swings at least gave the men pause. Her rescuer shouted, then planted a boot into one of the male chests, sending him stumbling.

The one who'd been kicked struggled to his feet just in time to see his companion run through on the mystery woman's blade. Words were exchanged, again, too low for Zevran to hear. The man hauled his bleeding companion up, then spat at her feet before limping from the Alienage.

The moment they'd gone, the redhead collapsed into her friend's arms, and after a moment, the two scurried off into the night.

Zevran blinked, stunned at what he'd just witnessed. He'd been so enthralled he'd completely forgotten his plan to rush to their rescue. The warrior woman had been more than capable of caring for herself - the memory of her name embedded, branding into his mind. _Kallian._

If what he understood was true, no alienage elf was permitted to carry steel - those who did would die upon their own blades. He frowned, wondering if Alistair knew about that archaic law. How had the woman become such a magnificent fighter, if her people were not permitted the use of weaponry?

She'd risked her life to save her friend, in more ways than one - she might have been reported to the authorities simply for daring to brandish a sword. And then, she'd simply let the humans go - though she _had_ worn a helmet, Zevran didn't hold out hope that she wouldn't be recognized. It would have been wiser to simply finish them.

With this thought, he shimmied down from the rooftop, intent on finding the two low-lifes and stopping their breath.


	3. The Alienage

_A/N: Thanks to FenZev and csorciere for their beta of this chapter. :-) _

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**Chapter 3  
The Alienage**

The bodies slithered noiselessly down the chantry well, disappearing without so much as a splash to alert listeners. If Zevran hadn't known for certain that the well opened into an underground river, he never would have used it as a dump site. But as the smooth waterway fed directly into the Amaranthine Ocean, he didn't worry about contamination. Just because he was a stone-cold killer didn't mean he was heartless.

Wiping his hands, Zevran curved around the wall, listening for the sounds of patrol. All was quiet, and so he took himself back to the palace, keeping as silent as the moon that smiled down from above. Just why he'd gone out of his way to dispatch the two men who'd threatened the women in the Alienage, he had yet to decipher. Her name whispered through his mind once more.

_Kallian_.

If that was, in fact, her name. There was no way of knowing - it was simply the only word he'd been able to make out, and it seemed more like a name than anything else.

Where had she gotten the sword? How had she learned? Her face had been hidden, but Zevran had begun to construct a vision in his head, spinning an image from thin air... she would be beautiful, as tall as himself, with black hair and wide, lavender eyes. Slim as a young tree, and with a voice so musical...

No, that was Leliana. He gritted his teeth, reshaping his mystery girl. Strong, yes. Her voice would be strong, not musical. And she fought with a sword, not a bow, not daggers. He imagined himself sparring with her, blades whirling in the sunlight as she backed him against a wall. She'd think that he was caught, and a wicked smile would curve her sensuous lips before he slipped from her reach, laughing, inviting her to come at him again.

His mind thus occupied, he tucked himself into bed, his clothes folded neatly upon a chair in readiness for the morrow. In the morning, he had every intention of seeking out his mystery maiden. How hard could it be to find one girl?

The sun saw him awake early, and he set his guards to practicing in the yard before he obtained breakfast directly from Brenna, the castle cook. No dining rooms for him. Where Lyra and Alistair were, Leliana was, and therefore, he was not.

By mid-morning he'd accomplished enough that he felt justified in sneaking away from the castle and hoofing it over to the alienage. The city was in full swing, filled with vendors hawking their wares in preparation for the cold season. Zevran dodged a cart, nearly tripping over a cage full of squawking chickens and earning a scowl from a homely shopgirl.

"_Braska,_" he muttered, then passed through the Alienage gates.

His nose wrinkled as he looked around... he despised the idea that elves were locked up like cattle, separated from the rest of society. Just what made the humans believe themselves to be so much better, and why did the elves not throw off their chains? The only time he'd been here before was when he and the Wardens had discovered a slaving ring, and put an end to it. The elves he saw now were not slaves, but they were hardly free.

All around were signs of neglect, and yet upon closer inspection, Zevran could see that the simple folk who lived here did their best. Faded curtains hung in the few windows, and elven children played around the huge tree that dominated the courtyard. The day was cool, and a few matronly women hung laundry to dry in the breeze; their clothing might have been patched and mended, but was neat and crisp as any noble. Folks chatted as they went about their work, and varying aromas struck his nose - bread baking, rotting garbage, soap suds, mud, and above it all, a whiff of nature.

It reminded him, almost, of Antiva City, and the district he'd grown up in. He'd joked once that all he needed to feel at home was a bowl of fish chowder and a corrupt politician, and somehow, those things didn't seem all that far from where he stood.

Giving himself a small shake, he took another look around. Now that he was here, he had no idea of how to begin. He had a name, but that was all... and what ruse would allow him to find his mystery woman, without bringing alarm or suspicion down upon her? He wracked his brain, wishing he'd thought a bit more about _this_ and bit less about what he hoped she looked like. During his walk, he'd dreamt up the exact curve of her breasts and pictured the smooth muscles that shaped her calves. But a current plan of action? This eluded him.

"Hey, you new here?" A small blonde woman passed by, her arms full of empty sacks. "Do you need directions?"

"I - Yes," Zevran uttered, seizing upon this new idea. "Yes, I do. I... have just arrived. From Antiva." No hiding his accent, after all.

The woman smiled. "You'll want to go see Elder Valendrian. He can help with housing. And sometimes he has connections to jobs, as well. You know, I'm going there now - why don't I show you?"

"Oh, that won't be necessary. I was just having a look around, you see."

The woman nodded slowly, looking doubtful. "So, you came to Denerim, from Antiva - what, with your employer? And I suppose he's given you a room in his own house."

"Well... yes." Zevran shifted, something in her mocking tone discomfiting him.

"So, I suppose you won't have much need to visit the alienage..." the woman continued casually, then shrugged. "Oh well. A handsome elf like you would have caught an awful lot of attention... but I don't suppose you'd be interested in anything like that."

"For the right person, I might make an exception," he offered, his lips curving upward.

Her green eyes flashed with life, and the grin she fed him was decidedly mischievous. The sacks shifted in her arms as she tucked a rogue strand of hair behind a graceful ear. One cheek dented, dimpling in the most adorable way.

Zevran's gaze darted to the ground when he realized he was staring. An image of Leliana floated before his eyes, and he banished it with an inner burst of annoyance. The woman seemed not to notice, perhaps taking his sudden silence for shyness.

"So... I guess I'll go deliver these," she laughed after another awkward moment.

"And I suppose I should continue my perusal of the alienage," Zevran chuckled. "But perhaps we shall meet again, miss...?"

"Oh!" She laughed once more, an embarrassed giggle. She was a regular imp, this girl, and Zevran found himself liking the dimple more and more. "I'm-"

"Kallian!"

Zevran's head whipped toward the voice, which called from across the alienage. A breath sucked into his lungs when he recognized the redhead from the night before. She sped toward them, her skirts gathered into one hand as she ran.

"Kal..." the speaker panted, out of breath. "Elder Valendrian wants to see you. Quick. Could be about last ni-" She cut herself off, frightened eyes raking Zevran. "Who is this?"

"Zevran," he said hastily. "New. To the alienage." He turned back to the blonde, offering her a hopeful smile. "It's... Kallian, no?"

His blonde goddess nodded, the dimple returning. "Kallian. A pleasure, Zevran. But I should go. Perhaps we'll meet again sometime. When you aren't too busy living in Denerim proper, that is." With a saucy wink, she turned to follow the redhead, and Zevran made a snap decision.

"Actually..." he called after her. "Perhaps I should consider the alienage more closely. You said you might show me to Valendrian - if you would be so kind?"

"Kallie, we should _go_," the redhead insisted, tugging at her arm. "The elder is _waiting_."

"By all means, then, let us go," Zevran agreed, and offered the lass his arm. She shifted the sacks, and he scooped them from her grasp, laying them over his other arm with a cunning wink. The smile she gave him in response took his breath away, and the perfect way her hand draped his forearm sent an involuntary shiver down his spine.

_Leliana who?_

It was only a few moments before they reached Valendrian's dwelling, and he waited outside per the elder's request. Once Valendrian's business with the girls was complete, they reappeared, and Kallian gifted him with another shy smile before following the redhead away.

"Kallian," he murmured, his image of the cool warrior queen with black hair melting away in favor of someone blonde, a few inches shorter, more slender, and with lively green eyes.

Within an hour, he was following Elder Valendrian up a cramped stairwell. The elf pushed open the door to an apartment on the third floor - 'apartment' was a generous word. It was a single room, bearing a straw-tick bed, a lone chair, and a window. The bedbox sat empty, awaiting a new 'mattress' of fresh grass, leaves, or possibly even actual straw, tucked beneath a taut sheet. A bucket of sand sat beside the door, which puzzled him at first.

"You are not the first tenant, I'm afraid," Valendrian apologized as Zevran circled the tiny room. "But everything is clean. We have an herbalist who fumigates regularly for a few coppers. And the landlord of this building isn't as bad as some - he'll allow candles, as long as they're kept in the metal brackets on the walls." Valendrian's toe touched the bucket. "That's what the sand is for. Fires."

"Ah." Zevran ran one finger along the weathered bed frame. Certainly less glamorous than his room in Castle Denerim. In fact, it rivaled the room he'd shared with three other young Crows, outside the leather-working district in Antiva City...

"You did say you had a job, right? That you can afford it?" Valendrian hedged, looking uncomfortable. "It's one of the better places here, and at a silver per month I know it can be a stretch. I can show you something else if you'd like, but you made it seem as if money was no problem-"

"I'll take it," Zevran nodded, quite satisfied. He clasped Valendrian's hand, returning the elder's smile. "Now, perhaps you can direct me to a laundress... and is there a cook who lives here as well?"

* * *

Zevran spent the next few days furnishing his new hidey-hole. He found a simple trunk for the foot of his bed - it did well for the linens he purchased from a vendor in Denerim proper. For now, he'd decided to keep most of his clothing at the palace, until he knew just how sticky-fingered his neighbors were. Aside from one dagger well-concealed within his boot, he left his weapons behind as well; no need to chance being caught with a blade. He did invest in a few dishes, a brazier for heating water, and just for flavor, a raw, untreated cow-hide from Denerim's tannery. It stank something awful, but as he sat in his window and looked out over the alienage, he'd never felt so at home.

A familiar blonde head caught his eye in the square below, and he hurried down the flights of stairs, hoping to catch her before he had to get back to the palace. He'd arranged for a mock assassination on Lyra that afternoon, and he was due to hold a knife at his ruler's throat in exactly two hours.

The easy way he'd connected with this Kallian surprised him somewhat. Since his move to the alienage, he'd managed a few casual conversations, usually catching her 'by chance' while she walked home for lunch each day. He'd discovered that she worked for a blacksmith in Denerim as a servant, and he had a fair idea of just where she'd gotten her crude sword.

But he still didn't know how she'd come by her skill.

"Kallian!" He raised a hand in greeting as he jogged across the square, delighting in the easy way she brightened when she saw him.

"Zevran," she nodded, dimpling at him. "We meet again. And again. Are you sure you're not stalking me?"

"Ha! Me? Stalk you?" He chuckled, but the nerves that puckered his skin had him reaching for a ready explanation. "You flatter yourself, my pear blossom. I do believe it is _you_ who seems to walk directly in front of my window every day at the same time."

"Right," Kallian drawled. "Well, I don't have time to stalk you today, Antiva. Master Falworth needs me to make a delivery this afternoon, and I need to change. You'd think if I'm supposed to deliver to noble houses, he'd give me a stipend for good clothing, right?"

"You would think," Zevran agreed as he walked beside her. "Kallian, I would very much like if you would stalk me this evening. Dinner?"

Those green eyes blinked, and she slowed her steps. "Like a date?"

"Is that what you call it here?" Zevran teased. "In Antiva, a date is a sweet fruit that one lingers over. I am merely proposing-"

"Oho!" Kallian chortled. "Not so fast, Antiva. Dinner before proposals. What kind of a woman do you take me for?"

"An enchanting one." Zevran caught her hand and pressed his lips to her fingers. They were calloused as his own, and well aware he was that the rough spots weren't from cleaning. He lowered his register, allowing his voice to sizzle over the words. "One I very much wish to know better. Will you allow me that? The chance to know you better?"

Sparkling green eyes met his when he unbent at the waist. "Who are you, Zevran?"

"Then you wish to know me better as well," he laughed. "Most excellent. Shall we say, nine o'clock?"

"Pretty late for dinner," Kallian scoffed, crossing her arms. "Seven."

"Eight."

One pale brow arched, and her hands met her hips as she sized him up. "Seven thirty."

Zevran's lips stretched into a grin. "Deal. You bring a blanket. I shall bring the rest."

"I don't know what you have in mind, but there'd better be food, Antiva." Kallian's eyes glittered. "I'm a growing girl."

"Oh, we shall both feast, my dear," he chuckled. "Trust me on that."


	4. The Rogue

_A/N: Thanks to csorciere and Jaden Anderson for their beta's of this chapter. :-)_

* * *

**Chapter 4  
The Rogue**

Zevran's heart was light as a feather as he left Castle Denerim's kitchen early that evening, a woven basket slung over his arm. With Lyra's Grey Warden appetite, there was never a shortage of excellent food, and if he wanted to impress Kallian, he was betting on Brenna's cooking.

Picking the lock on Alistair's private liquor cabinet was no problem, either - if he'd heard correctly, the monarch had yet to delve into the royal stash of fine brandies and aged wines, and was possibly unaware the store even existed. Zevran clucked his tongue as he looked over the bottles... such selection! A shame Alistair hadn't the taste to enjoy them properly. He chose an Antivan port wine that had likely been gathering dust for a decade or more, then locked things up tightly again before sneaking out of the king's parlor.

It was true, Ferelden locks were a touch different than the ones he'd trained on in Antiva, but the proper tools and a bit of practice made all the difference. If he'd had more time, he might have dragged Lyra away from whatever she was doing and proven to her that he really_ did_ know how to pick a lock, at least now that he'd had time to study up. What a fool he'd looked, unable to crack a simple door lock when first he'd arrived in Ferelden. Lyra's own skill was basic, but even _she'd_ been able to best him there.

But then again, he really had no desire to let anyone in on his new alternative lifestyle. Not Lyra, not Alistair, not Wynne or even Oghren. Not Leliana.

It wasn't that he was embarrassed by the decision, not exactly... but it had been awfully impulsive of him. A pretty face, and he dropped everything to pursue it... _Not just a pretty face,_ he thought. _Kallian's face._ Wicked green eyes, a ribald humor, that teasing grin. So very, very worth sleeping on straw and homespun for those few precious moments each afternoon as he caught her on her lunch break.

In truth, living in the alienage wasn't turning out to be as awful as he'd always thought it would be. The folk were friendly, accepting, supportive. Though Zevran prided himself on the ability to insert himself into any company, there was always a period of "proving" that he had to go through. And recently, he'd realized it might be because he was an elf among humans.

Sad realization. Some of Zevran's very best friends were humans, but even _they_ had required that he pass their tests before trusting him completely.

Of course, the fact that he was a Crow might _also_ have influenced those around him.

But regardless, now no one knew of his past. No one knew he'd been raised by whores, or that the number of throats he'd slit surpassed the number of years he'd been alive. No one in Denerim's alienage suspected him of being an assassin, and the freedom that came with a clean slate was... _intoxicating_.

One final stop before he dashed over to the alienage - the gardens. Pursing his lips, he scanned the area, his eyes lighting on a pale pink flower with trumpeting petals. The dagger from his boot saw its first use as he cut a healthy blossom, then laid it within the basket.

Whistling, he ducked out of the castle doors before he could be spotted. Oghren in particular had gotten quite insistent of late, and it was becoming more difficult to avoid the dwarf as days passed. But the new mage Lyra and Alistair had brought home seemed like a good sort... Zevran promised himself time to get to know Anders better. After his date with Kallian.

It was a brief jog across town, and since the sun had gone down only an hour or so before, he didn't even need to be that careful of patrols. Plenty of elves still roamed Denerim's streets, most of them on their way home after a day's work. He might have looked for Kallian, but he knew her schedule well - by now, she would already be at home, with her cousins and her father. Unlike his one-room rental, Kallian's family shared a small, two-bedroom house in the most upscale area of the alienage. She shared a bed with her red-haired cousin, who he'd since learned was named Shianni, and another cousin - Soris - shared the other bedroom with Kallian's father, Cyrion. Cyrion Tabris worked for Bann Rodolf as a house servant. Her mother was deceased - no details there. But with luck, he would have _that_ story from Kallian's delicious lips, instead of through the grapevine.

_Know your mark_, he thought with humor as he passed the Vhenedahl tree. In the past, these details would have aided him in ending someone's life. Now, they served little purpose other than giving him plenty to mull over as he fell asleep. As tempting as it would be to sneak into her room, there was no reason to...yet.

Within minutes, he stood outside the Tabris door. He'd barely raised his hand to knock when the door opened and Kallian slipped outside, pulling it shut behind her.

Like every other time he'd seen her, she wore tight-fitting leggings and a belted tunic, her dark-gold hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. Pink-cheeked and grinning, her eyes sparkled as she slipped her hand into his and tugged, not allowing him to say a single word. "Come on. My father's not coming home for another hour - we have plenty of time to make ourselves scarce. My cousin promised to cover for me."

"You look ravishing, my dear. How lucky I am, to have such a beauty as you on my arm on this fine evening. And just why are we outrunning your father?" Zevran cocked a brow as Kallian led him through the alienage, her eyes darting hither and yon. "Wait. Kallian, stop."

"Come on, Antiva," she threw him another heart-stopping grin. "You strike me as the type who likes a little adventure. Does the thought of sneaking around not sit right with you?"

Oh, he _liked_ this one.

A chuckle slipped past the smile that stretched his face. "Oh, it sits just fine. But, Kallian, there are witnesses everywhere. Look around." He extracted his hand from hers, indicating with his chin. "If you wish to keep me a secret, you will need to do better than holding hands with me in front of your neighbors."

"Oh." Kallian flushed, distress touching her mint-green eyes. "I didn't think of that."

"Here, my lady." He handed her the basket, bowing slightly. "The delivery you requested. And now, I know you have an appointment later, just outside the alienage gates. Do you not?"

"I... do," she uttered, taking the basket with an understanding grin. "And I really should go and keep it. Thanks, Antiva."

"Perhaps we shall meet again... soon." One corner of his mouth lifted, then he turned and strode off toward his building without looking back. He intended on letting it be known to all his neighbors that he was spending the night alone, in his room, but there was a back exit with his name on it. After he'd changed his clothing and altered his hair a bit.

_Now, just why does this morsel of a girl wish to keep me a secret from her father? _Kallian seemed like an open person... his intrigue grew as he mounted the stairs to his room, ducking past his nosy elderly neighbor's door before she could invite him in for supper.

* * *

Kallian stood in a shadow, nervous hands wrapped around the basket's handle, eyes darting across the city as Zevran slipped up behind her. A much-patched cloak wound around her shoulders, the hood draped down her back to allow newborn moonlight to dance over her shimmering hair. "Waiting for someone?" Zevran breathed in her ear, delighting in the clean scent of her skin.

Had his reflexes not been what they were, he might have gotten a dagger through the gut for his trouble. Kallian whirled at the sound of his voice, the basket dropping from her hands as she pulled a small blade from a hidden pocket. Zevran caught her wrist, flipping the hood of his own cloak back as he pressed a finger to her lips.

Like velvet, her plump mouth caressed his finger, and it took a fair amount of willpower to stop himself from dragging his touch downward to hook under her chin. "Shh..." he whispered instead. "Only me."

"Zevran," she scolded, then grinned as she slipped the blade back into place. "Nice hair."

He'd pulled his normally flowing locks back into a ponytail, covering his ears and laying them flat against his head with the tightness of the binding. "I am in disguise," he winked.

"I'm fooled. No, really. You look nothing like yourself."

"Let us not linger, then, lest someone see through my clever costume." Zevran hefted the basket as he offered her his arm, and the two of them began the stroll out of Denerim.

"How did you sneak up on me? I was watching. You could give someone a heart attack doing that, you know."

"You were supposed to bring a blanket," he admonished her, easing past her question. "All proper picnics have blankets."

"Right, sure," she snorted. "I share a bed with Shianni, and I doubt she'd have appreciated me getting our blanket all dirty. And Soris is such a hog, keeping his blanket all to himself. Dad isn't fond of sharing, either. He likes to tell us how lucky we are to have three blankets in the house."

"...Yes. I have just the one blanket, also," Zevran said after a moment, cursing his memory. He'd forgotten that Kallian, as "wealthy" as her family was, still lived a spartan lifestyle. Having more than two sets of clothing was a mark of how well-off the Tabris family was, though he wasn't supposed to know such intimate details about her life.

"We'll have to make do with the ground," Kallian continued cheerfully. "Or we could use your cloak."

"Why not yours?"

"You're the guy. Aren't you supposed to be very chivalrous and offer to take off your cloak so we can sit on it?"

"Supposing we find someplace with chairs, instead?"

"Riiight, Antiva. Afraid of a little dirt?"

"Saucy!" he smirked. "You know, I think the two of us will get along quite splendidly."

"Let's see what's in that basket, first," she said, flashing him another breathtaking smile.

That reminded him. He moved the cloth he'd wrapped everything in, revealing the pink blossom from the castle gardens. With a valiant gesture, he scooped the flower into his grasp and brushed it over her nose. Kallian's eyes crossed as he grazed the petals over her skin, and he couldn't help but laugh at her delighted expression.

"That's gorgeous," she admitted as she took the flower. "Points for that."

"You approve. Excellent," Zevran chuckled. "There is more."

"Food, I hope?" She buried her nose in the blossom, her eyes drifting closed as she inhaled its sweet fragrance.

"Mmm." A chill breeze picked up, and though Zevran had thought to take her away from Denerim for the night, it occurred to him that Kallian was no rogue. While he knew of his own ability to sneak through the city without attracting attention, her bold reactions to him proved she hadn't the natural stealth he possessed. Plans changed in an instant, and he slowed his steps. "My dear, how are you with heights?"

* * *

"I can't believe we're doing this!" Kallian squealed in a quiet voice. "What if we get caught?" Her eyes sparkled with the prospect, and Zevran adored her a little more.

"We throw ourselves on the mercy of King Alistair. Don't worry, I hear he's a pushover." Zevran poured a glass of wine, passing it to Kallian. "Besides, my... employer is a close friend of the monarch. And he likes me well."

"You still haven't told me who it is you work for," Kallian murmured, sipping from her glass.

The two of them had climbed over the castle wall and curled into a secluded nook of the royal garden, seating themselves on well-manicured grass among the plants and flowers. A fountain bubbled softly nearby, and though most of the birds had gone to bed, a few brave mockingbirds provided plenty of ambiance. The candles Zevran had brought coupled with the moon to provide more than enough light, and Kallian seemed charmed by the meal.

"A dignitary," Zevran said carelessly. "His presence here in Ferelden is meant to be kept secret. So unfortunately, I am not at liberty to give you more details than this, my pear blossom."

"There you go again, getting all secretive," Kallian complained. She sipped from the glass again, a pleasured groan leaving her throat. "This is amazing stuff. In fact, all of this is amazing..." she waved her hand over the remnants of their dinner. "Wherever did you get all of this? I don't think I've ever used a real glass cup before. It's kind of fantastic to be able to _see_ what I'm drinking." A hushed giggle slipped from her lips as she downed another swallow. "Zevran, I think you must be much more than meets the eye."

A nervous thrill ran over his skin. "Just what do you think I am, then?" He urged a relaxed smile onto his face, nudging one flirtatious eyebrow upward in query.

"Mmm... a rogue," she said, setting her cup down. "A smooth-talking lover of women, who for some reason decided I was worth chasing." She slipped her fingers into his, and Zevran delighted at the glow that came to her green eyes. "And what do _you_ think of me?"

Zevran's heart sputtered and sped at her touch. The night was chill, but her skin was warm... a flush pinked her cheeks, and soft golden brows rose as he locked with those glittering eyes. "I think _you _are the rogue..." he murmured, leaning in to stroke his knuckles over her cheek. "You have stolen my heart."

"Is that so." She leaned in, and Zevran found himself powerless, focused on the coral mouth so near his own. "And I never even knew it."

"Oh, you knew." Her sweet breath washed over his cheek. "You delight in tormenting me."

"A little," she murmured, and claimed the final inch that divided them.


	5. The Fantasy

_A/N: Thanks to Jaden Anderson for her beta of this chapter. :-)_

* * *

**Chapter 5  
The Fantasy**

Her taste was exquisite.

Velvet soft, their lips meshed as Kallian's lashes brushed his cheek. Her mouth parted, leading the kiss into something deeper. Zevran felt himself spiraling, his heart all but hammering as her teeth scraped over his lips, some remote corner of his mind bemused at the masterful way _she_ melded into him, how _her_ lips led the dance, how _her _tongue begged for entry. Slim fingers curled into the nape of his neck, pulling the tie from his hair. Loosed from its binding, it tumbled about his ears, and he felt her delicious smile as the silky strands brushed both their cheeks.

Breath catching even through the kiss, Zevran rose to his knees, finding the twine that wrapped her ponytail. Another moment and her hair fell free, draping around her face and giving him the perfect leverage. He wove his hands through the golden locks, cradling her head as their kiss escalated, mouths feverish against each other. Kallian lifted to meet him, her arms circling his neck, a stifled groan falling from those shell-pink lips. She shifted away just a touch, and he thought that she meant to end their moment of passion. But instead, her fingers busied themselves at the laces to his tunic.

Zevran's eyes popped open, and he pulled back. "Kally," he murmured, a thrill rippling over him at the feel of that endearment on his tongue. "Is this what you want?"

"I wanted you the moment I saw you, Antiva," she whispered, her tone filled with lust. "You wanted me, too. Don't act like you didn't." Her last word was swallowed as he swooped in to capture her mouth again, fierce desire flooding his bones. It took mere seconds to draw the tunic over his head, the chill night air teasing his fiery ardor. Kallian raked desirous fingers over his chest, and he shuddered at the unbridled passion in her touch. The sweep of her tongue along his own sent a rush of blood to his groin. She wriggled away to yank her own tunic over her head, letting it drop to the ground as he wound eager arms around her bare torso.

Not even a breastband to cover her. It was _wanton_, the way she threw herself at him, but he craved it. How long had it been, since he'd felt that someone truly hungered for him, truly _needed_ him? Not since Rinna, and that had been sullied by Taliesin's implications of treachery. As for Leliana... there had always been something missing in their interactions. Friendship, laughter aplenty - but not once had she approached him with this fire in her eyes, with hands so insistent that he feared for his clothing as it was pulled from his body.

Kallian made no secret of her fervor. It was in the set of her mouth, the green glitter in her eyes, the quickening of her breath. She shuddered - from the cold, or his mouth on her neck... he suspected it was both. Zevran urged her close, pressing one hand into the small of her back as the other kneaded a pert breast. He trailed a loving tongue down from the hollow of her throat, delighting in the arch of her back, the way she presented herself to him. His to touch, his to lavish. A low moan fell from her as his mouth closed over her beaded nipple, his tongue flicking over her skin. Kallian fisted his hair, then wrenched him up and away to claim his mouth again.

"Maker, you don't know," she uttered against his lips, urging him back onto the frigid ground. "I'm not usually like this."

"A shame," he chuckled as she feathered kisses over his face. "I find this riveting."

"You're a cad," she breathed as she shimmied his pants off with rough hands, cursing when his boots got in her way. "You'll use me tonight, and leave me tomorrow, and I _don't care_." One yank, two, and he was nude, the damp earth freezing beneath him.

"I? Use _you,_ my pear blossom?" Another laugh. "It is I who find myself being undressed against my will."

"You're not fighting very hard," Kallian grinned. Toeing out of her boots, she hooked thumbs into her own waistband, shoving the leggings down and off to be tossed aside.

The moon illuminated a young warrior's body, dappled with darkened scars and whitened weals. One thigh was marred with a long, indented line - somehow, sometime, she'd taken a bad slash, most likely severing muscle. It was a wonder she walked, with evidence of such a wound. "No more words," she whispered. "Just this."

"Wait..."

Her eyes begged him not to speak, but then a gleam of humor surfaced when he pulled his own cloak beneath his body. "Cold, are you?"

"I wish nothing to distract me from your glory." Something changed in her eyes at these words... a touch of fear cutting through the bravado. Settling the cloak into place, he held up an inviting hand, and she stepped over him, then knelt. Her own cloak made a blanket that he tugged around them, noting the shiver that passed through her when their skins met. Pure flame, that was Kallian, her mouth heated as it met his. Zevran caressed her cheek, savoring her scent and taste. Less frantic, now... the moment tender as she hovered over him, his turgid length grazing her thigh.

This was moving quickly. Days he'd known her, and yet this was all he wanted - to _connect_ with her in the best way he knew how - physically. So many had fallen under his seduction, but from the beginning, it was Kallian who had held_ him_ in thrall, Kallian who called the shots. Had she known how much of his heart she already held... but such vulnerabilities weren't conscious, and all Zevran knew was that he needed this like he needed air.

Kallian took the lead once more, and Zevran let her, unwilling to do something she might disapprove of. His plethora of experience told him that she preferred to have control, and so he surrendered, drifting with her whim. She slanted over his chest, joining their mouths in a languid kiss that set fire to his blood. Aching, he drew a calming breath, unwilling to show how very much he needed her, how much he _wanted_ her to continue. It had to be her choice, had to be...

Lips connected, she swung one leg over him, aligning their loins. Such _warmth_ hugged him, and Zevran gasped, the imminent fulfilment of his wish bringing a snicker to Kallian's lips.

"Hard up?" she murmured, teasing him with her body.

"Only since the day we met," he returned with a strained laugh. "Kally..."

"Shh..." she whispered. Another soft-lipped kiss, and then Zevran arced with pleasure as she took him in, closing down over him like a glove.

The cold prevented any kind of lengthy pillow talk, but even so, they took a few moments to lay together when it had finished. Heart thrumming, Zevran stroked his hands over Kallian's back, staring up into the night sky as he reflected on what had just gone.

Addictive, this elven girl with the eyes like faceted emeralds. Never had he been with anyone who set his blood blazing like this. Dozens he'd seduced even before the tender age of eighteen, some who'd died moments after the act was completed, blissful contentment their final feeling before he ended their lives. Sex was just another action to him, like eating or breathing, yet it never failed to stir feelings of life and vitality within him. His had always been a healthy appetite, _especially_ after completing a contract.

But this... _connection_. Never before. Never like this.

It was something Alistair had spoken of once, and it had stayed with Zevran. The way Lyra had twined herself around his soul, almost from the moment they'd met - ridiculous, he'd thought at first. How could anyone _know_ with such surety that a person was the one they were meant for? Did such a thing even exist? And if it did, was it _really_ worth having, if it limited one so?

Watching the Wardens, though, he'd slowly begun to change his mind. There was trust, and love, and _promise_. The guarantee that, as long as they could, they would be there for each other. No disappearing in the middle of the night, or waving a blithe goodbye when morning came. Though his easy ways with women remained, his heart was no longer in it. An endless chain of faceless lovers, thrilling to his every touch, but none of them winning his heart - that was what awaited him, and inwardly he chafed at the terrible solitude of it.

He'd thought Leliana was the one. He'd been wrong.

As odd as it seemed, Kallian... this sprite of a girl with the wicked smile, had captured him. How beautifully she fit in his arms. Lying there with her tangled around him, he knew.

And if what she'd just given him was any indication, she felt the same way.

The stars had never shone so brilliant. Zevran cuddled her closer, pressing a kiss to her temple.

She shifted, lifting her head with a satisfied smile. "'We shall feast'. Is this what you meant?"

"I... had hoped," he chuckled. "But you, my pear blossom... you have outdone my wildest dreams."

"Good. Nice to know I haven't lost my touch." She winked at him, then grimaced and threw back the cloak. "Damn! Whose idea was it to get naked out here?" Hopping, she gathered her clothing and dove back into the warmth of Zevran's arms, shivering against him. "If you keep the cold out while I dress, I'll never forget it."

It made things a touch awkward, but somehow Kallian managed to keep herself mostly beneath the cloak while she maneuvered herself back into her clothing. Once she'd finished, she gathered Zevran's for him, and the two of them packed up and snuck back over the wall.

The guards were in for a beating. While Zevran had made sure to choose the most secluded area of the garden, the fact remained that they'd breached the castle wall and no one had even appeared for normal rounds. Whoever was in charge of the nightly watch deserved the rack.

It wasn't long before they stood outside the alienage gate once more, and Kallian put her hand upon his arm.

"Thanks, Antiva... it was fun." A soft smile touched her lips, those verdant eyes unfathomable. "So I suppose you and your dignitary will be leaving Ferelden soon?"

"No." Zevran lifted a hand to caress her cheek. The pad of his thumb stroked her lips, and she leaned into his touch. "I am here to stay, Kally."

"...Ah." Rather than the delighted expression he'd expected, she seemed uncomfortable. "Well. Um. Thanks... I had fun."

"So you said," Zevran murmured, setting his basket down on the ground. Sliding his hands about her waist, he pulled her close. "What is it, my blossom? Was I so unsatisfactory?" He was nervous now - but he kept his voice calm, his smile easy, despite the butterflies batting around his stomach. Kallian wasn't acting like the many _se__ñoritas_ he'd slept with. Usually they mooned at him, begged to know when he would return, dropped kisses upon his fingertips as their lashes fluttered in plea.

"Oh, you were good." The answer was quick, a flirtatious smile flashing. "I just... didn't plan on anything past tonight. You know?"

"...I see." His stomach twisted. But this wasn't over yet. "Is there a reason why it should not continue past tonight?"

Kallian raked pearly teeth across her lip. "It isn't a good idea, Antiva-"

He frowned, displeased with her continued use of the nickname. "Zevran. Please." His hands tightened at her waist.

"...Zevran. I... have... baggage."

"As do we all." He dipped inward, brushing her lips with his own... to his relief, she melted, and his heart triumphed. So there _was _attraction. The rest he could work with. "Lunch tomorrow?" he whispered, circling her nose with his own. "Say yes."

She hesitated, indecision creasing her forehead. "I..."

"Just yes," he breathed, claiming her mouth once more. This time, he _did_ call on his extensive skill, kissing her with absolute thoroughness. Her arms encircled his neck, a low moan humming between them as she trembled under his expert touch. His blood warmed, and knowing she felt it too made the kiss even better.

Slowly, he drew away, staring deep into her eyes. "Say it," he prompted. "Yes."

"Yes," she whispered, that smile singing within him like a sunrise.

He brought his lips over hers again, her cheek silken beneath his fingers, drinking her scent before he released her. "Goodnight, my Kallian."

"Goodnight... Zevran." A last smile, more relaxed this time, and she slipped through the gate, raising her hood to cover the golden strands, colorless in the moonlight.

Difficult as it was not to shadow her, he resisted, giving her the privacy she clearly wanted for her walk home. Soon enough, if he had his way, he would accompany her to the door, their fingers laced. And beyond _that_, who could tell? The daring thought that one day soon she might accompany _him_ home was altogether too delicious.

Of course, it would be better if home wasn't an eight by eight room with nothing but a bed and a mostly empty trunk. He frowned, recalling his sumptuous chamber in Denerim's palace, a room he'd avoided in favor of this newer, simpler life.

What would Kallian say, when he told her?

_Later,_ he thought, dismissing the bothersome thought before it could root itself. Whistling, he took his own path home, falling asleep to the memory of Kallian's laughter.

The following morning saw him awake early, dancing about the palace yard with his chosen guardsmen. The workout did him good, and afterward he had a meeting with Ser Cauthrien regarding the nightly patrols.

"How do you know?" she challenged him.

"I snuck over the wall myself," he shot back, leaning back in his chair with a raised brow. "None were there to give me pause. Hardly effective protection."

Ser Cauthrien colored, but sullenly agreed to review the nighttime patrol routes. Satisfied, Zevren escaped the castle once more, evading Oghren before the dwarf could pin him down. He knew he would have to see his friend eventually, but... for now, this was easier.

The sun approached its zenith, and Zevran found he couldn't _wait_ to see her again. It was tempting to purchase something for her, but he resisted. None of the elves were wealthy, and gifts would only bring suspicion down on him.

She wasn't outside the gates, so Zevran meandered through the alienage, winding his way closer to her home. Her behavior of the evening before, hiding him from her father - it made him think twice about knocking on her door.

Indeed, it was at the Vhenedhal tree that he found her, cross-legged beneath the gnarled branches. She stared straight ahead, her fingers carding the few blades of grass that dared to push their way through the cobbles. "Such beauty," Zevran observed as he knelt at her side. "You put this tree to shame, my blossom."

She startled at the sound of his voice, blinking out of whatever had transfixed her. "Antiva. Hey."

"_Zevran_," he corrected, easing down beside her.

"You call me blossom," she challenged. "How is me calling you Antiva any different?"

"Because my name for you is a sign of affection. Your name for me is a sign of avoidance."

She flushed, a wry look filling her eyes. "See, this is why I shouldn't have slept with you," she muttered. "But I guess I never learn."

"Do you regret it? I do not," he countered. She shrugged, looking off once more. "I promise you, I am not going anywhere," he continued gently. "You need not fear."

"See, that's the trouble." A bitter laugh marred her words. "You're not leaving."

"You... wish me to go?" _Why?_

"I... damn it. No good way to say this. I'm getting married, Zevran." Kallian rose to her feet, dusting her hands over the back of her pants. "I'm not sure when, but my betrothed is supposed to arrive any day. From Highever. I only just heard," she continued hastily. "After you invited me out... and then Shianni suggested I keep the date anyway, because, well, last chance for fun, you know?"

"I see."

"I talked to my father this morning - I thought I could figure something out," she went on, her words seeming far away. "But, the match is made and the dowry paid. Valendrian's already signed the wedding documents, I - I _can't_ get out of it." Her hands fisted, tension threading her shoulders, anger digging furrows in her forehead. "I thought you were leaving," Kallian's voice begged him to understand. "You said you worked for a foreign dignitary, and... there's that stupid ball the queen is throwing - I figured you'd be gone in a few weeks."

Zevran nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"Sorry, Antiva." Her fingers gripped the edge of her tunic, rubbing back and forth. "I.. would have liked to get to know you."

"I, as well." The mask came down, his usual roguish smile fixing itself into place. "Your intended is a lucky man."

A short laugh fell from Kallian's lips. "I guess. I've never met him."

Zevran stood, unfolding from his position on the ground in silence. "So... you are to belong to another," he began. "Does this mean... we cannot be friends?"

"Would you _want_ to?" Kallian's brows shot skyward. "After what I did?"

"You are not married yet." One corner of Zevran's mouth lifted. "Perhaps your fiancé will die in some horrible, tragic accident, and then we can run off to Rivain together."

Despite the gravity of the situation, this made Kallian chuckle. "Who can tell? We can hope for dismemberment."

"Eaten by blight wolves."

"Torn to bits by a bereskarn."

Their eyes locked for a moment, and then Kallian swooped in to press her mouth to his. "Thank you, Zevran," she whispered. "I won't forget."

With that, she hurried off, one hand raised to her mouth, blonde ponytail bouncing.


	6. The Negotiation

_A/N: Thanks to Jaden Anderson for her beta of this chapter. :-)_

* * *

**Chapter 6**  
**The Negotiation**

Zevran smoothed the front of his tunic, then tucked a rogue strand of hair behind his ear, ensuring a tidy appearance. At his waist, a pouch of coin jingled - it had been a piece of cake to help himself to the monarch's gold. They didn't even keep things locked - foolish, in his opinion. _Anyone _could slip past the guards, waltz in and help themselves.

_Too lax, all of them_, Zevran thought grimly as he strode toward Kallian's home. The guards _still_ had less than an ounce of sense between them, even with him handling their shift rotation and the constant training sessions. It was as though they thought the king and queen were invincible; superhuman, even. As if a simple blade couldn't end them just as quickly as any other.

On the other hand, considering the skill that both Lyra and Alistair possessed, perhaps the guards had reason to assume they'd never truly be needed.

Thoughts for another time. The rough wooden door loomed before him, and Zevran brushed invisible lint from his shirt before releasing a nervous breath. His hand rose, then knocked. Kallian wasn't in, this he already knew. She worked in the afternoons, and wouldn't be home until later. But his pear blossom was not the audience he sought.

The door swung open, and a man with Kallian's eyes stood before him. "Hello. Can I... help you?" the elder asked in a pleasant, if formal, voice.

"Yes, I hope you can," Zevran began with a winning smile. "Elder Tabris. My name is Zevran Arainai - I don't suppose your daughter has mentioned me?"

"...No." Cyrion's eyes hardened. "Zevran, you say. How may I be of service to you?"

"I understand your daughter has recently gained a husband - or, future husband. I wish to discuss Kallian's marriage contract." Zevran brushed the pouch that hung at his waist. "Might you be open to other offers?"

Cyrion's eyes slid down and then back up, his mouth pursing as he inspected the brazen elf who had deposited himself on the doorstep. "Come in, Zevran."

Not one to miss an opportunity, Zevran ducked eagerly into the house before the elder could change his mind. The door scraped along the warped floorboards as Cyrion pulled it shut behind him, and it took a moment for Zevran's eyes to adjust to the darkness of the interior.

What met his sight was cheerful enough, and compared to the other homes in the alienage, downright posh. A simple round table dominated one side of the room, spread with a tidy cloth in a flowered print. Four chairs in good repair sat around the table, all of the same make and color - no simple feat in itself. Bright curtains draped the windows, somewhat sun-faded but otherwise in fine condition. Zevran had grown so used to seeing rags in the Alienage windows, it was surprising to see undamaged cloth used for something as frivolous as window dressings.

"Have a seat," Cyrion invited, moving to a cupboard and retrieving two wooden cups. "Would you care for cider?"

"Yes, thank you." Zevran's eyes wandered the room as Cyrion assembled a plate of bread and dried fruit, setting it and a pitcher before them on the table a moment later. The elder slid into his own chair, then poured.

"You're new to Denerim," Cyrion commented as he handed one of the cups toward the assassin. "Tell me, Zevran - just where is that accent from?"

"Antiva." Zevran sipped, savoring the sweetness. "I have recently arrived with my employer, who is a foreign dignitary visiting King Alistair and Queen Lyra."

"An important position," Cyrion observed. "Any chance you'll be returning to Antiva soon?"

"Plans are... unclear, right now." Zevran cleared his throat. "Though it looks as if we might be staying for good. My employer likes Ferelden, and the king has made him welcome."

Cyrion nodded, sipping from his own cup. "Tell me of your family."

"I... well." Zevran laughed, attempting to dissipate the sudden tightness in his stomach. "I come from a prosperous clan, one who has long been in service to... many royal families." _Not untrue,_ Zevran thought, sipping from his cup. _The Crows have serviced many, _many_ royals. _

Cyrion looked impressed. "I see. So. You wish to discuss Kallian, and the marriage contract."

"Yes, sir. I have spoken with Elder Valendrian - he told me I should seek you out, as her father and the one who struck the original deal," Zevran said. "Your daughter is a rare flower - one I would treasure. One who is worth much."

"That she is," Cyrion murmured, his focus dimming as he revisited some distant memory. "Kallian is her mother - more fire than water. She deserves a husband who can handle her - a man who won't be walked on. For she _will_ tromp on the man who can't keep her in check."

"She's certainly spirited," Zevran chuckled. "It was what attracted me to her in the first place, sir. There aren't many like your daughter."

"I admit, though, I'm curious," Cyrion continued, a sly glance skimming sideways, "just why we've never met. You speak of my daughter as though you know her, and yet, I have never heard one mention of your name. You come here today, wishing to discuss marriage... just how many times have you and Kallian spoken?"

_Braska! _Cyrion had been so welcoming, he'd completely slipped, forgetting that Kallian had kept him a secret. Zevran's mind raced - how much to reveal? Her father certainly wouldn't appreciate the fact that he'd taken her on only one date, and that the night had ended... passionately.

Cyrion's shrewd eyes bored through him. "Well?"

Zevran swallowed, then offered the man a relaxed smile, calling on years of quick-thinking to aid him. "I have spoken with your daughter. And we have met, a few times, though always away from the Alienage. I know it seems quick, but I felt an instant connection with Kallian, sir. Some might think me too bold, but I am a man who knows what I want, and is not afraid to get it."

"Indeed." Cyrion considered, then set his cup upon the table. "Well. Zevran Arainai. What is your offer?"

The moment he'd hoped to reach. With a movement practiced and even, Zevran lifted the leather pouch from his waist and opened the strings, the merry clink of coin musical. "Name your price." His slim hand delved within, drawing forth a palmful of gold to spread in a trim line across the tablecloth.

Rather than the eager gleam he'd hoped to see in Cyrion's eyes, the elder frowned. "You think to... _purchase_ my daughter?"

"I... no, Elder." Zevran backpedaled, wondering just how grievous a transgression he'd committed. How was he to know how these things worked? "I merely wish to - um, show you I am a man of means, one who can afford to give Kallian the life she deserves-"

"She _has_ a good life," Cyrion snapped, his fingers tightening on his cup. "Better than most here in the Alienage. I've worked hard to give her everything she's needed."

"And you have," Zevran said hastily, wondering just when things had started to go so wrong. "That was not my implication, Elder-"

"Then what was, Zevran?" Cyrion's guarded face had blackened, thunderclouds brewing in his expression. "_Name your price_, you said."

"I... sir, I-"

"My daughter is not _chattel_," Cyrion spat. "She is a treasure, one whom I would give my life for. One whom her mother _did_ give her life for!"

"Please, Elder-"

"I don't know how you do things in Antiva, but there is no slavery here in Ferelden, and women are _not _bought and sold."

"No, sir, please, allow me to explain..."

Cyrion's mouth pressed into a thin slash. "I'm listening."

Zevran raked teeth over his lips, gathering his thoughts. "I have never approached a man about marrying his daughter before, and I fear I have insulted you-"

"My, whatever gave you that idea?" Cyrion said dryly.

His cheeks heated. "...uh, when Kallian told me of her engagement, I was stunned, sir. I had only just met her, and yet, to know that I would not even have the chance to court her... sir, I..."

Kallian's father loosed a lengthy sigh. "Zevran, it isn't just money, though I begin to see where you were coming from with your offer, inappropriate though it may have been. The family she has been offered to is of old standing, a respectable line in Highever. Their roots trace back to King Calenhad - even further back than the Tabris line, and long have we been proud of our lineage. One of my ancestors served royalty - King Vanedrin, I believe." He held up a hand as Zevran began to speak. "No, I am not finished. Kallian will be _safe_ in Highever. Denerim is... touchy, these days. The Teyrn of Highever, though, has long been kind to the elves, and his son continues to be so. These new monarchs may make changes that will be good, but I'll take a sure thing over the chance." He stood, scooting his chair back from the table. "Kallian will marry Nelaros, and they will go to Highever to live. And unless you can make a very compelling argument in the next few moments, Zevran, I'm afraid my mind is made up."

"Sir... please." Zevran stood as well. "Shall we not allow Kallian the choice? Has she even met this Nelaros? I am confident that I can win her heart, if I but have the chance-"

"Zevran, I'm sorry, but you arrive out of nowhere, spinning a story of roots in Antiva and an employer who may or may not be leaving Ferelden any day. No one in the Alienage knows you, no one can say for sure who you are or where you come from."

Zevran's heart sank. His face settled once more into that grim mask as he listened to Cyrion's reasoning... the saddest part of all was, the man was right.

"Very likely you could win Kallian," Cyrion continued in a crisp voice. "I know my daughter. Impulsive, brash. Not aware enough of her own mortality. It's a miracle she hasn't been caught by the guards-" Cyrion's speech halted, then he cleared his throat. "Zevran, she hardly knows what's best for her. I _do_. This wedding, this move to Highever - while Kallian might have chosen you, I know her well, and I know what's best for _her_." He stepped forward, placing a hand on the young assassin's shoulder. "I hope you can respect that."

Zevran nodded, tension cementing his spine. "If I may ask, when is the happy occasion?"

"Nelaros is due to arrive within a few weeks. Kallian's cousin Soris will be married at the same time - his bride comes from Highever, as well. I imagine that the ceremony will be held without delay, once they both get here."

Zevran's chin dipped in a slow nod. "Thank you for your time, Elder. Kallian is most lucky to have a father who cares for her so much."

Cyrion said nothing as he opened the door, but the sound of it closing him out of Kallian's life forever broke Zevran's heart.

* * *

Zevran slipped back into the castle, wondering if he could make it to his room without being seen. Well, he didn't have to wonder, he _knew_ he could - it was just a matter of whether or not he _wanted_ to be seen. He leaned against the stone wall of the entryway, letting his eyes slip shut.

Too long had he secluded himself from his friends. There were responsibilities here in the castle, people who appreciated him. It seemed there was nothing that remained for him in the Alienage... diving back into this life would be the best thing for him. He was expecting a delivery of some new weaponry this afternoon - that would help with distracting him, at least. There were women enough in the world - who needed a certain blonde warrior with mischievous green eyes? Still, he was torn. Hide in his room, or find his friends? The problem was solved for him when he heard voices a moment later, and steeled himself for the long-awaited reunion.

"Elf!" Oghren said happily when he rounded the corner and spotted Zevran near the door. With him was a tall, blonde human in mage's robes. "Where ya been? I been lookin' for ya!"

"Hello, Oghren," Zevran said, mustering a smile. "I've been... busy. And you? Have you been staying out of trouble?"

"Was just gonna take Sparklefingers here over to The Pearl," Oghren grinned, clapping a hand on the man's back. "Anders, meet Zevran. I think you two'll get along just fine."

"Pleasure," Anders smiled as he held out a hand to shake. "So you're the infamous Zevran Arainai I keep hearing so much about. To listen to Oghren talk, I'm surprised to see you alone - I hear you're quite the one with the woman, and pretty good with those blades, too."

Zevran just smiled, not really in the mood for banter. "Perhaps you shall see for yourself, sometime. Oghren is often too drunk to be able to judge a thing clearly."

"Hey," Oghren complained. "S'not drunk if ya can still function."

"But to call that functioning," Zevran joked, warming to the subject. "When one continually loses one's dinner in that monstrosity of a beard-"

"You insultin' my beard now?" Oghren roared.

"Perhaps he isn't as drunk as I thought," Zevran mused.

"Oh, he's drunker," Anders quipped. "I had to help him strap his axe to his back a few moments ago."

"Th' strap broke!" Oghren shouted, his face reddening. "You humans're taller! I couldn't reach behind me that far-"

"Ah, yes, he does become clumsy while inebriated," Zevran agreed. "I offered to carry him on my back once when he could barely walk, but he refused. Alistair ended up carrying him, instead, after he'd passed out."

"That's a lie!" Oghren raged, his squat face comical. "I never-"

Their mirth was interrupted by the great door cracking open, the palace guards stepping aside to admit a slim figure carting a bundle of cloth. "Thank you," a feminine voice said. Zevran's heart stopped when the object of his desire - not to mention, depression - stepped into the castle, looking every bit as lovely as he'd imagined. Even the bit of dirt smeared over her face did nothing to detract from her adorable state.

"Zevran!" Kallian said, her face lighting with that breathless smile he already knew so well. "Fancy meeting you here! Oh, I... sir." She bowed as best she could around her bulky package. "You must be Zevran's employer. It's an honor to meet an ambassador."

Anders and Oghren exchanged a puzzled glance.

"I..." Zevran stammered. "Yes. This man," he gestured, "is my... employer, the one I've told you so much about." He stared at Anders and Oghren in desperation, hoping the message he was sending with his eyes came through in time.

"Forgive me, your lordship." Kallian's tone was laden with respect. "I never expected to meet such an important person. I fear I am insulting you with my rough speech and mannerisms - I'll just be on my way."

"No, please." Anders' eyes lit with wickedness, the corners of his mouth turning upward. "I know we'd _love_ to meet the woman Zevran's been speaking of. Your name, my dear?"

She colored. "Kallian Tabris, sir. I work for a local blacksmith."

"Kallian..." Anders stepped forward to capture her hand in his own. Zevran's chest clenched at the smooth way the human dropped a kiss upon her knuckles. "A lovely name, for a lovely lady."

She giggled. "You're a mage, aren't you?"

"Yes, escaped from that horrid tower to join Zevran in service to our esteemed employer." Anders' brandy eyes glittered with fun as he turned to Oghren. "Lord Oghren Depucey MacFarland, a well-loved representative of Orzammar from the infamous Warrior Caste, and defacto leader of House Branka."

"Whut?" Oghren's head swiveled, the fiery braids of his beard catching the light. "My name's not-"

"Important? Oh, don't be so modest, sir," Anders chuckled, clearly enjoying the yarn he was spinning. "You know well that King Alistair and Queen Lyra are lucky to have one such as you in their midst! Indeed, all of Ferelden should bow before the might of such a fearsome warrior." His voice lowered as he leaned in, his hands still cradling Kallian's, engaging the wide-eyed girl further. "Cries when he sees kittens, though. Sweetest thing you've ever seen."

"Ahh... Kallian," Zevran said, planting his hands on her shoulders and steering her away from the amorous mage. "You're here on a delivery, I assume?"

"Uh, yes - an order of swords for the king and queen's guardsmen." She smiled back at Anders over her shoulder, then whispered as Zevran pulled her along. "Zevran, why didn't you _tell_ me you worked for a representative of Orzammar? That's so fascinating!"

"I can hardly believe it myself," Zevran said weakly. "Here, why don't I deliver those for you." Sliding the bundle from her arms, Zevran snatched the work order from the top, praying it didn't contain his name - or if it did, that she had yet to read it.

"Um... are you sure?" Kallian asked, uncertain. "I wouldn't want to take you away from-"

"Oh, go on," Anders urged. "Zevran's not doing much right now, anyway. You don't mind, do you, Lord Oghren?"

"Uh... no," Oghren graveled, catching on at last with a lecherous upturning of lips. "Though ya said ya'd shine my boots, elf. Be sure ya get back here right quick. I gotta meetin' with th' king in a few minutes. Wouldn't want th' king ta see me with muddy boots!"

"I'll leave you, then," Kallian murmured. "Good to see you, Zev." That smile flashed once more, and she bowed to Oghren as she scurried back out of the palace.

Zevran cursed beneath his breath after the great door boomed shut behind her, then turned to run, wondering if he could get away before the jeering began.

"So... elf," Oghren's voice snickered. "You gonna deliver my dinner tonight, or what?"


	7. The Magician

_A/N: Thanks to Jaden Anderson for her beta of this chapter. :-)_

* * *

**Chapter 7**  
**The Magician**

"Her name is Kallian Tabris," Zevran finished in a heavy voice. "She is vivacious as the wind, more beautiful than the rain, and certain death with a sword. Her eyes are green as springtime, and she tastes of freedom and promise. Never have I felt this way - she is a sickness within my very bones, a weakness I would gladly bear til the end of my days. And she is to be married - to someone else."

The three of them sat at a table in The Pearl, where Zevran had spent the last half hour outlining his situation with Kallian and the Alienage. After a few jibes, Anders and Oghren had settled in to try and help him solve the problem. Well, Anders had - Oghren dove into his drink, half-listening as he leered at Sanga's latest additions to her harem. Fortunately for Zevran, none of them came from the Alienage, so there were none to recognize his face.

Anders contemplated his mug, brows nudging together in thought. "How does it work with elves? Mages don't marry, not legally, and from what I gather, humans usually let love dictate how things go. Does she love this other man?"

"She has yet to meet him. There is a contract - she has been bartered like so many sacks of wheat." Zevran scowled at the table, his eyes tracing the accumulated grime of countless previous customers. The Pearl was known for one thing, and it wasn't cleanliness. "And yet, when I offered her father gold, he had the nerve to be insulted. Elder Valendrian _told_ me her bride price - twenty sovereigns, a bolt of raw wool and two bushels of fruit. _Fruit._ For a _girl_. And yet, Tabris refused my coin!" He growled, stomach roiling with distaste. Sure, he'd slipped badly when he'd told the elder to 'name his price'. But even so, wasn't that exactly what had already been done? _The match is made and the dowry paid..._ It seemed, in order to buy a bride, there were forms one needed to follow.

"You don' need'er," Oghren slurred, his alcohol-soaked breath sending Zevran reeling back from the table. "No meat on'er bones, anyway. Me, I like a girl who's gotta little somethin'..." he snickered. "...extra."

"Yes, well,_ fascinating_ as that is," Anders rolled his eyes at the giggling dwarf. "Zevran, if you love this girl, you need to go after her."

"Why?" Zevran challenged in a hard voice. "So I can be refused, yet again? According to her father, I am a mystery with a potentially unsavory past. He claims that no one knows me, that none can speak for who or what I am." _He isn't even wrong,_ Zevran thought with disgust.

"So?"

"So the man she is to marry has a lineage longer than my arm," Zevran sighed, kneading his temples. "And the elder believes she will be safer in Highever."

Anders snorted. "That's rich, considering what happened there earlier this year."

"Yes, well. Fergus Cousland is kind to the elves - that is what he said. The fact that Fergus's _sister _currently sits the throne in Denerim seems not to matter to Cyrion."

Anders set his cup upon the table, one eyebrow rising as he regarded Zevran. "This black mood - I won't have it. You need to buck up."

"Buck up. Really. You have not heard my history, it seems," Zevran snarked. "I have loved three women in my life - one whom I allowed to die for what I thought was treachery, one who never loved me back, and one who is promised to another. The next may simply turn to ash on the spot and save me the trouble of having my heart torn to shreds." Lifting the cup to his lips, Zevran drained the sour ale at one pull, hoping drunkenness would lighten his mood. Sobriety certainly wasn't.

"See, there's your problem," Anders leaned in, one finger pressing against the grained table. "You've given up. The great Zevran, defeated by something this simple - it makes me ashamed." He shook his head, determination written in the set of his jaw. "Epic love stories aren't made by the hero _giving up_, Zevran."

"She refused me," Zevran muttered into his beer. "Her _father _refused me. And before that, _Leliana_ refused me. And Lyra's Satinalia ball is approaching, and the guardsmen continue to be thicker than Antivan leather. Nobility from every country across Thedas will be here, gathered in one place at one time - _anything_ could happen, and yet these buffoons cannot learn!" A bitter laugh spilled from his lips, the recitation of his failures turning his stomach. "If I have any duty now, it is to my monarchs. No, I am done with love."

"She's a right bitch," Oghren pronounced as his stein thumped on the table, flecks of foam coating the ends of his moustache. "A right, saucy bitch..." He loosed a tremendous belch. "An' you don' need'er."

"Need versus want, Oghren," Anders chided. "Come on." He stood, clapping his hand on Zevran's shoulder. "You too, Lord drunkey-pants."

"Anders-"

"Not a word!" the mage caroled. "Come on. You're taking us on a tour of the Alienage."

Zevran's eyes went wide. "Just what do you hope to accomplish?"

Anders grinned as he leaned in to tap Zevran on the nose. "You're getting her back."

Oghren stumbled along as Anders hurried them all toward the Alienage gate a few moments later. "You've still got that pouch of Alistair's gold, right?" Anders whispered to Zevran.

"Yes, but-"

"Give it to Lord can't-walk-a-straight-line."

"Anders..."

"Trust me," the mage said with a mysterious smile. "If there's one thing I can do, it's win friends and influence people."

Zevran sighed, but thrust the pouch of gold at Oghren, who fastened it to his belt after a certain amount of fumbling.

The Alienage had come to life with the end-of-day arrival of workers from their various jobs. Zevran's heart flipped when he spotted Kallian and her cousin Shianni seated beneath the Vhenedahl tree, playing jax with a group of children. It positively somersaulted when his blonde goddess lifted her gaze, her eyes brightening when she spotted him. Rosy lips curved upward, green eyes shining, one hand rising to wave. He couldn't help the answering smile that broadened his cheeks. Beside her, Shianni grinned slyly and nudged her shoulder.

"Go get her," Anders whispered. "I'll take care of dramatics."

"What are you planning?"

"Just watch," the mage murmured.

Zevran stared hard at Anders for a moment, then shook his head, conceding to what he hoped wasn't pure stupidity. He took a step toward Kallian, then hesitated, glancing around for Cyrion Tabris. The girl's father wasn't in the crowd, so he jogged toward the ancient tree.

"Goodly elves! Citizens of Denerim!" Anders began in a grand voice. "I have the honor now of presenting one who has long admired your struggle! One who wishes to help, one who-"

"Can it, shem," a derisive voice called, and a rotten tomato flew at Anders.

Zevran winced - he might have guessed that the Alienage elves wouldn't take kindly to a strange human appearing in their midst and making announcements. But to his surprise, the mage spun, magic shimmering from his fingertips as the rancid missile hurtled toward him. Before Zevran could draw another breath, the tomato froze in the air, hovering mere inches from Anders' outstretched hand.

"Wow," Kallian breathed as Zevran took the final step toward her. Shianni threw him a quick smile of welcome as he lowered to sit beside Kallian, who turned amazed eyes upon him, her fingers twining through his as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Your friend is amazing!"

"Isn't he, though," Zevran muttered. Kallian's admiration might have bothered him more had she not taken possession of his hand. She dimpled at him, minty eyes sparkling with fun.

Anders' mouth turned up in a cat's grin as he took complete control of the situation. "Thank you, I've eaten." The fruit gleamed as it spun in the air, and gasps erupted from all around as the rot melted away to reveal a firm, bright, fragrant tomato. Anders' hand stretched out to snatch it from the air, and he tossed it to one of the children playing beneath the tree.

"Now, as I was saying." Anders swept into a low bow, gesturing expansively toward the rumpled dwarf at his side. "Lord Oghren DePucey McFarland! A representative of Orzammar, a land as beautiful and mysterious as lost Halamshiral. This noble dwarf, last surviving member of his house, son of parents much put upon and tried, has journeyed to fair Denerim with one goal - to see the elves."

Suspicious glances flew among those gathered, a general murmur of distrust rising. Before it could gain too much strength, Anders held out his hands in a placating motion. "You have concerns. But consider, before you judge!" And Anders began to spin a yarn, one that even Zevran found impressive. He told of Lord Oghren's difficult journey from Orzammar, of the help he'd offered the King of Ferelden and his queen in defeating the Blight, of his role in the final battle.

"Not that... I am not enjoying this, my pear blossom," Zevran whispered during Anders' speech. He flicked a glance at their entwined hands. "But, just friends, you said?"

Kallian blushed. "Sorry. I shouldn't, you're right." Her bright countenance dimmed as she slid her fingers away.

Zevran tightened his grip, preventing her from escaping completely. "I did not say that... Your fiancé is not here yet, no?" He threw her a wink.

Kallian's mouth quirked upward. "No, he's not." Her calloused fingers joined once more with his, her touch searing.

Zevran swallowed, certain that the beat of his heart could be heard throughout the square. "Kallian, I-"

"Recall his bravery, as he battled the fearsome Darkspawn generals!" Anders' voice echoed throughout the plaza. "Do none of you recall his face? Look again, good people!"

"We should talk," Kallian whispered to him.

"Indeed." But before anything else could be said, Anders commanded their attention once more, imploring the populace to gaze on Lord Oghren and see the unsung hero of the Blight.

Oghren shifted, embarrassed. So far the taciturn warrior had said nothing, merely turning different shades of scarlet as Anders spouted complimentary lies. One beefy fist opened and closed, then reached up to tug on his moustache. "Weren't nothin'," he muttered. "Jest doin' my part."

"A part not many men would dare!" Anders cried. "And now, he comes here today, to gift you with more, good elves! Lord Oghren, this is no time for shyness - come forward, and give your gift to the people!"

Oghren shuffled forward, fumbling at his belt. "You mean the gold, right?" he whispered loudly.

Anders' brilliant smile cracked, and one hand shot out to snag the pouch from Oghren's hamfist. "Good people, Lord Oghren has heard of your need. He wishes to sponsor the building of a school - one that will allow elven children, and adults! To learn to read, write and cipher."

A collective gasp and cry came from those assembled. With those dramatic words, Anders poured the gold from the pouch. It rang with cheer as it collected in his palm, throwing late afternoon sunbeams in every direction. The mage tossed his hand upward then, launching the sovereigns into the air where they hovered for a moment before falling back to the earth. Just before they clattered to the ground, Anders slammed his staff into the dirt, and each coin halted in midair and began to spin. The money gleamed, drawing applause and whoops of delight from all who watched.

"Imagine the improvement in your lives!" Anders crowed as the gold collected in his hand once more. "Imagine your children, growing up as knowledgeable as those who call you master. Will you allow this, good elves? Will you permit Lord Oghren to be your champion?"

The response was deafening. Elves of all ages rushed forward to crowd Oghren, who gaped and sputtered as he was overwhelmed. Anders laughed as he clapped the stammering dwarf on the back, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Zevran!" he hollered through the clamor. "Come on! Lord Oghren needs us!"

"Duty calls," Zevran sighed, giving Kallian a rueful grin. "But perhaps I might see you later?"

"I'm free." Amusement tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Or, cheap, anyway."

Zevran chuckled. "You are neither, my dear, though I wish for your freedom with every breath I take." Sweeping her hand into his, he brushed her knuckles with a kiss. "The city gates, at sunset?"

"See you then," she whispered.

* * *

"Did it work?" Anders muttered a few moments later, once they'd made it out of the Alienage. "You two looked pretty thick back there."

"I am meeting her at sunset," Zevran admitted, unable to prevent the pleasure that brightened his face. "And now, Anders has a meeting we must accompany him to before then."

"Where're we goin' now?" Oghren interjected, his short legs shuffling doubletime to keep up with their longer strides. "Anders, who ya meetin' with? Gonna spin more bullshit about another dwarven hero? An' here I thought I was special."

"I don't know what Zevran's on about," the mage shrugged. "What meeting?"

"Did you or did you not just promise to build a school in the Alienage?"

"...oh, that," the mage said, sounding uncomfortable.

"The king and queen will need to make arrangements," Zevran continued. "Though if I know Alistair and Lyra, they'll be anything but angry."

* * *

Zevran chuckled to himself as he made his way toward the city gates. True to expectation, Lyra and Alistair had been pleased - what with everything they'd been dealing with, the Alienage simply hadn't reached the top of their docket yet, so they were happy that something was being done to improve conditions. Watching Anders explain his actions, however, was amusement itself - until he reached the bit about Kallian Tabris.

Lyra's sharp eyes hadn't missed Zevran's well-timed crushing of Anders' foot to stop the mage from speaking, though Zevran was pretty sure Alistair was still clueless. While he doubted the queen would let too many more days go by before she cornered him for an explanation, for now she'd simply left it alone. With a touch of luck, Zevran would come up with something to halt her questions before then.

For now, he was simply happy to be seeing Kallian again.

_Fool,_ he berated himself as he leaned against the town gate, gazing off toward the forest. _This is pure folly._ The sun kissed the horizon, slanting fractured beams of glow through the distant trees. Urging his cloak around his shoulders, he reached down to adjust the dagger kept within his boot. The strap needed fixing - the blade continually slipped, digging into his ankle. Not knowing where the evening would take him, he'd retrieved his usual weapons from the castle. Being prepared never hurt... if only he could find a way to carry them into the Alienage without fear of reprimand.

"Antiva," a soft voice said, and then she was in his arms, her lips meshing with his. Zevran melted, his heart hammering as he gathered her close. Her scent was enough to drive him wild, his body's arousal a vivid thing. But beyond that, feeling her so close, connecting with her even in this minor way loosened the tension in his shoulders. How could something this _right_ be wrong?

Her tongue traced the seam of his lips, and Zevran opened hungrily to her with a groan. A breathless sigh echoed from Kallian as well, the two of them sinking into the want that heated the air. Once more, Zevran marveled at the masterful way she plied him, taking control of their encounter from the first touch. He lifted one hand to trace the delicate line of her jaw, skin soft as ripened peaches.

When at last her mouth fell away from his, it was to nestle at the juncture of his collarbone, brushing his exposed neck with another kiss before she cuddled into him. "I missed you."

"It has been hours, my blossom," he laughed. "Have I been absent so long?"

"Only my whole life," she murmured, her smile an audible thing. "Come on, let's walk." Reluctantly, she released him from her arms, braiding their fingers together as they began the stroll away from Denerim.

"So... this." Zevran squeezed her hand, his body thrilling even to this simple touch. "This... Kally, tell me what your mind is doing with this."

"I don't _want_ to marry whoever the prick is that my father promised me to," Kallian declared. "He's so certain he knows what's best for me. Ass."

"He cares greatly for you," Zevran pointed out. "When I spoke with him-"

"Wait." Kallian's steps halted, and Zevran winced. What was _with_ his speaking before thinking lately? "You spoke with my father?"

"I... did."

"Why?" Suspicion narrowed her eyes and creased her forehead.

Zevran's mind combed his catalogue of lies, flipping through the dozens of tales he might tell her. Somehow, he doubted very much that she would appreciate his attempt to procure her for himself. And yet... _Why not?_ he thought, throwing caution to the wind. Hadn't she just told him she had no wish to marry this Nelaros? Much as he didn't want to scare her away, he could think of nothing that would pass as reasonable. Besides which, lying to her felt worse. _And you've been so honest with her so far_, he thought wryly. But one thing at a time.

Steeling himself for her reaction, he took a deep breath. "I offered to purchase your marriage contract."

Kallian blinked at him, going still. "You... offered to marry me."

Zevran nodded. "Kally, don't be-" _angry_, he'd been about to say. But her lips on his own prevented him from speaking anything further.

"Yes," she breathed between kisses. "Oh, Zevran, yes! When? Can we go now? Let's just leave! We can be on a boat tonight - well, maybe not tonight, but soon, or! We could just go on foot! You must know your way across the country, you came from Orzammar with Lord Oghren-"

Her eager replies brought an amazed chuckle to his lips and a blaze of emotion to his heart. She _wanted_ him, cared for him just as much as he did her. Cutting off her punctuated speech, he claimed her mouth fully, deepening their kiss as he wound her into his arms. "Kallian," he murmured a moment later. "You would do that? Leave everything behind - for me?"

"In a heartbeat," she whispered fiercely. "There's nothing for me here."

Zevran's heart soared. Kallian claimed his mouth once more as he began sketching plans within his mind - they would need supplies for a few weeks, warmer clothing, a tent. And where to go? Not Antiva - the Crows thought him dead, and keeping them deceived was imperative to his - and Kallian's - health and safety. But all the rest of Thedas was open to them, as far as he was concerned. He would need to tell Alistair and Lyra-

The monarchs.

The brief dream collapsed as he remembered his obligations to them. They'd saved his life, helped him in so many ways. Lyra was no longer in fighting trim - deny it all she liked, pregnancy had slowed her down. Though she still outstripped most, if anything were to happen to her - _especially_ while she carried the kingdom's heir - Zevran would never forgive himself. Could he really just _leave_, when he'd promised to train their guards to do more than pick their noses?

Perhaps the old Zevran could have.

Eyes slipping shut, he broke from Kallian gently, fingers sliding down her arms to lace with hers. "My blossom, I will need time. Your intended will not arrive for some weeks - give me until after the Satinalia ball. I... have an obligation to Lord Oghren. After that, I will be free, and we shall go - anywhere you like." _If I cannot complete their training by then, it cannot be done,_ he thought grimly.

Kallian worked her lip between her teeth, at war with herself. Emerald eyes flicked back and forth, her tongue skimming her lip as she weighed his words, seeming torn. Finally, her hands tightened around his, then she nodded. "A few weeks."

"Thank you," he murmured. "I promise, Kally, and then we'll go." _Marriage,_ he thought... somehow, the idea didn't frighten him as it once might have. Not when the person he'd be tied to was her. Curling her into his embrace once more, he breathed deeply, adoring the way she fit in his arms. If this was love, it was worth the heartache he'd endured to find it.

"We can't be seen together, though," Kallian murmured. "Not after my father refused you... and he'll be watching. I'm not going to have the easy time getting away - this is going to be a lonely couple of weeks."

Zevran frowned, shifted his weight, and cursed beneath his breath when the blasted dagger cut into his ankle once more. Reaching down, he retrieved it with a scowl. "Braska," he muttered.

"Nice blade," Kallian commented. "Boot sheath giving you trouble?"

"The strap needs fixing," Zevran grumbled. "I'll lose an ankle at this rate."

"I know a guy," she offered. "Lots of the elves use them - they have to be made well, or we'd be found out. I hate that we can't carry weapons... most elves can barely use table knives. They'd be useless in a real fight - the shems _like_ it that way, though." Her sunny face darkened as she spoke these words.

Zevran opened his mouth to reply when sudden inspiration struck. Grinning, he flipped the blade in his hand. "Kallian... how would you like to help me train the elves to do more than cut their meat?"

A slow smile spread over her face. "What'd you have in mind?"


	8. The Fiancé

_A/N: Thanks to Jaden Anderson for her beta of this chapter. :-D_

Zevran's tattoos have been immortalized by the lovely and amazing EkoCentric! :-D She did a fantastic piece of fanart, and I had to include it in my opening scene. So much love to you, my dear! Check her out on Deviant Art under the SN ~ekocentric. I'll be linking the art on my profile as well, so go check it out and leave her lots of love, because Zevran and Kallian! *squee!*

* * *

**Chapter 8**  
**The Fiancé**

Kallian's admiring hands ran over the supple length of Zevran's back. She circled him, her leather boots the only sound against the planked floor of his third-story apartment. Her fingers traced the whorls and lines that canvassed his skin, dipping below the hem of his waistband at the back to see if the ink continued.

"My blossom," Zevran chuckled. "Such curiosity."

"Didn't it hurt?" she asked, fascinated.

"At first, yes. But after a time, one grows accustomed to it." Zevran planted his fists upon his hips, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth as Kallian faced him once more.

Her eyes sparkled with her answering smile, filled with mischief. "The darkest markings, over your shoulder blades - they look almost like wings."

"Ahh... yes," Zevran hedged. What Kallian referred to was the very first tattoo he'd received - the crest of the Crows, splashed across the top of his back. Not all chose to wear such markings, but Zevran had wanted to display his loyalty to the organization in a permanent way. So he'd gone all out - the biggest tattoo he could get. It _did_ look somewhat like wings... dark, ominous wings. A few women he'd come across had chosen similar tattoos, but always of long, feathery bird wings. None were as dark and foreboding as his own. He'd loved the effect at first. Now, he found himself praying Kallian had never seen the Crow's sigil.

"What about these - they look almost... _tribal_," Kallian breathed, her fingers splaying over his biceps.

"Dalish," Zevran said. "Though as for what they mean, I confess I do not know. I had them done by a woman in Antiva, who came from a local clan to live in the city. I thought they were rather... sensual, no?"

For answer, Kallian lifted herself up to mesh her lips with his. "Very sensual," she murmured, her eyes drifting closed.

For a week now, they'd been sneaking moments like this, and Kallian had but a few moments left of her lunch break before she had to rush back to Falworth's. The sturdy fabric of her blouse wrinkled beneath Zevran's eager fingers as their kiss stretched itself out. "Kally," he murmured. "When can I see you again?" His lips trailed along her jawline, nibbling her ear.

She shivered. "Soon? Because more of that, please?" She laughed, the goosebumps that rose on her skin evidence of Zevran's ability with his lips. "Zevran, I have to go to work!"

"Tonight," he insisted, his fingers tightening over her waist. "Here. You need not stay all night... but if you can get away for a few hours..."

"Antiva..." Kallian groaned. "Why are you doing this to me!"

"Get Shianni to cover for you." Zevran's nimble fingers kneaded the small of her back, his mouth lifting from her neck to lock with hers. A soft, wistful sound left Kallian, long lashes feathering over her cheeks as she angled into him. Zevran's body sizzled, the heat of his desire burning through his bloodstream. "I will make it worth your while."

"Maker, I want you." Kallian nipped at his lower lip. "After practice, then?"

For answer, Zevran wrapped her into an embrace and claimed her mouth once more, pouring the depth of his want into it, his hands roaming the gentle curves he was coming to know so well. She went boneless, a heady smile tickling her face as she leaned back.

"So... I'll see you later..." A flighty giggle slipped past her guard as she turned, stumbling over her own feet and grabbing for the door to regain her balance. "I..." She giggled again, then ducked out.

Zevran chuckled, reaching for the shirt and pulling it over his head.

* * *

"A blade, no matter how small, is only as deadly as the one who wields it." Zevran's casual feet carried him in a lazy circle, the assembled elves standing in various states of ease around him. There were as many females as males, though most of those who'd shown up were younger than forty. A few elders lounged against the trees, though, their arms crossed as they observed this first lesson.

Zevran bent at the waist, his blade ringing free of his boot sheath as he pulled it. "Much as I would like to instruct you in swords, the only weapons you can carry in the Alienage are what you can fit in your boots, in your hair, up your sleeve. But do not doubt it - these small stings can cut just as deep, and I intend to make certain you know how."

"What makes you able to teach us?" one young elf jeered. "How is it _you_ know how to fight?"

Zevran smiled. "Ah! We have a volunteer. Your name?"

The elf's eyes slid from side to side, but none of his friends spoke up to save him. "Nat," he said at last.

"Nat. Have you a blade?"

"No," the boy said sullenly. Zevran tossed Nat his own dagger, pretending not to see the fumbling way with which he caught it.

Weaponless now, Zevran struck a casual pose. "Come at me, then," he invited.

Nat hesitated. "You've got no knife."

"Hardly my point." Zevran turned his back, tuning his ears instead to the small sounds around him. "I am defenseless, and I cannot see you coming. Now, Nat. Come at me."

A few seconds of silence, and then the telltale swish of grass as the lad's boots crossed the few yards separating them. At the last moment, Zevran spun, avoiding the attack and capturing Nat's arms. He twisted, spinning the lad into a chokehold, the knife falling from useless fingers.

"Simple, no?" Zevran asked, releasing the boy a moment later. "We have a distinct advantage over our human counterparts... our ears. Not only are they far more beautiful than those flat, rounded things the humans have been cursed with, but our hearing is far more keen than theirs. I guarantee, you will hear your adversary long before you ever see them." Claiming his knife from Nat, he thanked him with a smile, tucking it back into his boot sheath as the lad rejoined the circled. "This is simple, something you all can learn. Whether you are armed or not, there is no reason why someone with a blade can have the advantage over you. Your own body can be used to defend, and even kill."

Interested murmurs flew among those gathered. Kallian grinned, her weight shifting from foot to foot as she crossed her arms.

After that, it was simple. Those who had weapons were paired against those who didn't, and Zevran moved among them, correcting postures, demonstrating defense mechanisms, offering suggestions.

The sun had sunk below the treeline when they ended their session, the elves abuzz with conversation and laughter. Zevran watched them go, pleased. Sometimes, all one needed was a teacher.

Kallian approached as the clearing emptied, her crude sword held in one hand. "Care for a go?"

He quirked a brow. "Against me?"

"I haven't seen you do all that much yet," she purred, her eyes sparkling with fun. "I'm pretty good with this thing, you know."

A slow smile crept over Zevran's face. "Did you ever wonder what happened to those ruffians who gave you and your cousin such trouble?"

Kallian hesitated, her grip faltering on the blade. "Ruffians?"

Zevran slid the dagger from his boot sheath. "The night before we met. You and Shianni were set upon in the Alienage, were you not?"

Kallian's brow creased, the sword lowering.

"Bold of you, to challenge them so openly. Were you not afraid they would discover who you were?"

"How do you know about that?" Kallian demanded, the blade dropping to her side.

Zevran whirled, and his dagger touched the soft skin of her throat. "Lesson one, my sweet," he whispered. "Do not let an opponent distract you with talk." His arm curled around her waist, and he pressed his lips to her cheek before darting away again.

Kallian gasped indignantly, eyes flashing. The sword rose once more, her grip tense as she charged him. "You ass!"

Zevran laughed in delight as he parried her sword with his much smaller blade. She stumbled, pivoting back as soon as she'd regained her balance. Her brows had drawn together, eyes aglitter with concentration. "So, then," she called. "How do you know what happened that night?"

"The question you should be asking yourself, my dear," Zevran returned. "Is why no one ever came seeking you. An elf, brandishing a blade? Even now, you should be rotting in jail."

Kallian scowled, her feet weaving a slow pattern as they circled one another. "You sound like you know the answer to this."

"Indeed. It is because I saw Shianni attacked. And thus, I saw your daring rescue."

Kallian stopped dead, her face carved from stone. "How?"

Zevran tucked the dagger back into his boot. Their sparring was done for now, though he planned on a repeat soon... crossing swords with her had been most invigorating, even for such a brief time. "I would be happy to show you. There is a particular roof that allows a perfect view of the Alienage, and I happened to be up there at the time of the attack."

Kallian's mouth pursed. "And so, you just... what? Watched the show? Never occurred to you that maybe Shianni needed help?"

"Actually, I _was_ on my way to assist her, when another warrior appeared instead... you are a fine fighter, my dear, though I can teach you much." A chill night breeze whistled through the trees as Zevran crossed the space between them, his hands closing over her waist. "However did you learn?"

One corner of Kallian's mouth quirked. "My mother."

She said nothing more, and Zevran did not ask. When and if she was ready, he would hear the story; of this he was certain. His thumbs brushed the leather armor that hugged her hips.

Whatever either of them might have said next was lost forever as a twig snapped in the underbrush. Both of them snapped gazes toward the noise, then the sound of Shianni's voice was heard. "...stayed to work with him a bit longer is all."

"Like this," Zevran said loudly, stepping back and drawing his dagger once more. "Hold it firmly, with both hands."

Kallian mimicked his stance as Shianni stepped from the woods, followed by Cyrion Tabris and a young blonde elf.

"Kallian," Cyrion called. "You didn't return with the others."

"Zevran was working with me privately," Kallian said, throwing him a wry look. "Apparently, I have a lot to learn."

Cyrion pinned Zevran with a glance. "I see."

"Thank you for allowing Kallian to attend this lesson." Zevran bowed, pressing his hand to his heart. "Your daughter is most talented with a sword."

"Kallian," Cyrion said, ignoring Zevran. "The caravan from Highever arrived today."

Zevran's eyes darted to the young man who accompanied Kallian's father. Sudden realization landed, his stomach churning.

"Kallian," the young man said as he stepped forward. "I'm Nelaros. I'm... well, your intended, I guess." A shy smile tugged at his mouth. "Nice to meet you."

The blade slipped from Kallian's fingers. She stared, wordless, then shook herself. "I- I'm sorry, I didn't know you would be arriving so soon." Her movements somewhat jerky, she took herself across the clearing, offering him her hand to shake. "Nelaros."

"Is that the greeting you give your future husband?" Cyrion sounded jovial. "For goodness' sake, hug him at least!" The man's green eyes, such a perfect match for his daughter's, rose to lock with Zevran's as Kallian put uncertain arms around the newcomer. Zevran looked away, his heart burning at the complete disrespect Tabris showed for him.

"Dinner's almost ready, cousin," Shianni offered. "Will you and Zevran be much longer?"

"I think we've finished," Zevran said quickly. He bowed once more. "Elder. Shianni. Kallian." On wooden feet, he forced himself across the clearing to extend his hand to Nelaros. "Welcome to Denerim, my friend."

"Thank you." Nelaros grinned, his grip firm. "Though I imagine we won't be here that long. A few weeks at most. It's certainly a big city... different from Highever, that's for sure."

"I am certain Kallian will delight in showing it to you." Zevran pasted a smile on his face. "And now, if you will excuse me. I have an engagement I must attend."

Without a look back, he took himself from the clearing, his heart turning to ash in his chest. If Kallian's betrothed was here, the wedding couldn't be long in coming. _Now_ what?

* * *

Hours later, he sat upon his bed, a book propped against his knees, a candle glowing on his bedside table. He doubted Kallian would manage to arrive, but on the off chance that she _did_ escape her home for a few hours, he'd promised to be here.

All afternoon, he'd paced his floor, lost to the if-only's and why-didn't-we's. Finally, he'd gathered his things into a compact bundle, ready to leave Denerim forever if that was what Kallian wanted. Lyra and Alistair would simply have to understand. He'd send Leliana a message once they were far from the city. If anyone could complete the training of the guard, it was his bardic friend.

His eyes skimmed the same line over and over, unable to absorb it, not really seeing the words. At last he set the book aside, wondering why he was bothering. Drawing his knees upward, he leaned his elbows upon them, palming his eyelids. The hour had grown late. With Nelaros arrived, Zevran had to assume Kallian wasn't coming.

Shucking his boots, he flopped into bed and blew out the candle, hoping he could manage to lose himself in sleep.

He must have dozed, for it seemed like only moments later that a small sound outside his door snapped his lids open. In a flash, he was at the entryway, his dagger in hand as he pressed an ear to it. Old habits died hard.

"Antiva," came her whisper. His heart leapt, and Zevran set the dagger aside and pulled the handle, ushering Kallian inside. She fairly flew into his arms, clinging as though her life depended on it.

Zevran breathed her in, rejoicing in the feel of her. "How much time do you have?"

"All night," Kallian replied. "Shianni and I are supposed to be at a friend's, and Nelaros went with Soris for some sort of guy's night. My father won't suspect."

The hungry kiss that followed was only the beginning.


	9. The Powderkeg

**Chapter 9**  
**The Powderkeg**

Kallian's legs tangled with his, her head nestling on his chest as one lazy hand traced circles over his skin. Zevran dropped a kiss on her forehead, relaxing into the afterglow of their lovemaking.

"I should get back..." she murmured, then sighed. "What I wouldn't give to just fall asleep here with you."

"Mmm..." He raised a hand to smooth her hair back from her face. "Kallian, my blossom... what now?"

She sighed again, the sound bleak. "There's been no talk of the ceremony yet. Though I have a feeling I could wake up to find my father's arranged for everything. I don't have much time."

"There's got to be a way to stall things..." Zevran muttered. "_Braska_. There can be no more stalling. It's too much of a risk. We should simply leave Denerim."

Kallian pushed herself up on an elbow, surprise brightening her eyes in the soft moonlight that streamed through the window. "But what about Lord Oghren?"

"He shall have to find another manservant. I cannot lose you, my blossom... not after only just finding you-"

His pronouncement brought a squeal as Kallian pounced on him, locking her lips with his, her long blonde strands swinging around them both. Zevran couldn't help but grin at her enthusiasm, his hands tangling into her hair as he returned her affection. She pulled back a moment later, her mouth contorting to the side as she put on her "thoughtful" face. "Won't he look for you? Shouldn't you give him a couple of weeks notice, or something? You've been with him for so long."

Zevran swore silently to himself. The charade was growing tiresome. "Lord Oghren knows of my feelings for you. I'll leave him a note, it will be enough. At heart, he is a romantic, and his fondest wish is to see me find happiness." _Not entirely untrue,_ he thought.

Kallian grinned, pleased with his answer. "Must be nice to have such a kind employer. I know Master Falworth won't be happy if I disappear sooner than I'm supposed to... for all I know, he'd help pay to have me found. I've been with him for awhile, and he's always saying how elves are hard to train."

"Don't worry about Falworth - most humans have a price. For the right coin, I imagine he would be happy to quietly hire another worker."

"And you've got the coin to just pay him off?" Kallian shook her head, amazed. "Andraste's lacy panties... I make three coppers a day at Falworth's. What does Lord Oghren_pay_ you?"

Zevran chuckled, amused at the idea of Oghren doling out his salary. "He pays me well enough."

"I'm marrying into money," Kallian giggled as she raked a hand back through her locks. "Who'd have thunk it."

Zevran smiled into the darkness, thinking of his lush room in Denerim's palace. What would Kallian say if she knew of _that_? He still had most of the coin he'd received from Alistair and Lyra at the end of the Blight - his reward for services rendered, as they'd put it. That _alone_ was enough to set them up for life, though he doubted he'd ever be satisfied to sit in one place and do nothing for the rest of his days.

Kallian made a soft, contented sound as she cuddled into him, and he curled his arms tighter around her, loving her nearness, the way her supple body wound around his own. He said nothing for a moment, thinking back on all that had occurred between them. Things had happened _so_ quickly... His chemistry with Rinna had been similar, though they hadn't slept together so soon. And he and Leliana had been friends, then lovers, for months before he'd offered her his earring. It was barely a handful of weeks since he'd met Kallian, and yet it had all but been arranged... He'd attempted to buy her marriage contract, and she'd agreed to follow him from Denerim. Logically, their marriage would soon follow...

Gooseflesh rose on his skin as he remembered. _His earring!_ How could he have forgotten?

"My blossom," he said as he shifted himself out of her arms and off the bed. "I wish to give you something."

She stirred, a lazy smile curving her mouth as she watched him crouch by the trunk. "Is it a pony?"

He quirked a brow. "You would rather I give you a small horse?"

"Most girls want ponies," she said with a stretch. "I hear they're amazing things... though they shit everywhere."

Zevran snickered. What a delight she was. Tilting back the lid on the trunk, he fished in his pouch, feeling for the diamond earring he'd worn as a youth in Antiva. After Rinna's death, he'd taken it off, vowing that he was through with love. Of course, that hadn't been true - though he hadn't worn it in nearly a year now.

Rising, he closed the trunk quietly, the glittering stud rolling between his fingers. Padding to the bedside table, he struck a match, setting the candle alight once more. Kallian winced at the sudden light, blinking to clear her vision. "Must be important," she commented. "Though I have to tell you, if you're giving me a pony, I really have nowhere to keep it. And it would probably eat the curtains."

"What about this, instead?" Zevran lifted her hand, placing the earring in the well of her palm.

Kallian's breath caught, her jaw going slack, emerald eyes staring in helpless disbelief at the stone sparkling in the low light. "Antiva..." she said weakly.

Zevran curled her fingers closed over the jewel, his own hand cradling hers. "Among my people, this is a sign of devotion... a commitment, lifelong. Kallian Tabris..." he took a breath, his heart speeding in the face of this momentous event. Somewhat silly to be nervous, since they'd all but said it already, but... "Will you be mine?"

Her eyes rose to lock with his, shimmering pools of heartfelt emotion. "Zevran..." she whispered.

The silence grew, and Zevran felt nervous laughter tickling his throat. "So... is that a yes?"

Kallian jerked out of her reverie, laughing at herself as she wound her arms around his neck. "Yes! Oh Maker... what in the void have I gotten myself into!"

Such mirth tumbled from both of them as they held each other in the dim glow. "I know less than you, my blossom," Zevran murmured into her hair. "But as long as we have each other... it matters not."

Kallian joined her lips with his, and there was no further talk.

* * *

The following day found Zevran hard at work with the guards in the yard of the palace. He and Kallian had agreed to meet later to finalize their plans, and Zevran_ had_ to speak to Leliana before he could abandon his responsibilities to the monarchs. Trouble was, she'd gone to Kinloch Hold, though Alistair had said she'd likely be back today or tomorrow. Zevran's eyes tracked the sun as it traveled across the sky, barely thinking about the guard who charged him. He stepped aside, swatting the unfortunate man with the flat of his blade.

"Better," he said. "Again."

The sun crawled, and when the lunch hour approached, he dismissed the guards, setting them to work instead with Pascal and his Wardens. If only the clumsy humans had_half _the potential he'd seen in his elven compatriots! There were no bad habits to unlearn, no boorish fumbling with weapons they'd been ill-trained to use. Proper weapon training took years to master. Was it any wonder he was yanking his hair out, with only a few months to undo everything they knew?

A wry grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. If only he were staying, he might consider training an elven cadre of guards. They'd be quicker, quieter, lighter on their feet. Far better suited to the specialized protection he had in mind for his monarchs. _If wishes were stars, the sky would be full,_ he thought, hurrying into the castle to see if Leliana had returned. She hadn't, and so he dashed to the Alienage, hoping Kallian had yet to arrive for her midday meal.

A crowd had gathered 'round the Vhenadahl tree, angry murmuring and whispering flowing over them like an electrical current. Zevran worked his way closer, hoping to learn just what was going on. The attention was focused entirely too close to the Tabris home for his comfort.

"So these are them." A well-dressed human lordling circled a pair of elven women, arms crossed as his speculative eyes raked them up and down. "Pretty things, aren't they, gents?" A few young men in fine clothing lounged nearby, looking bored.

"Come on, Vaughan," one of them groaned. "Your father said you're not supposed to harass the elves."

Keen displeasure rippled over the young noble's face, his upper lip curling as he glared daggers at the one who'd spoken. "My father isn't the one running things. Not anymore - doddering fool."

The others said nothing, perhaps knowing their companion too well to risk his ire. Zevran recognized his type - self-important and cruel, if his years of experience told him anything. The young man snapped his fingers at the women, and Zevran's steps slowed when Cyrion Tabris spoke up.

"Lord Vaughan, what is the meaning of this?" The elder looked sternly at the young human as he strode toward him, the weight of his years lending command to his words. "If you seek entertainment, the Pearl should suit your needs. These girls are not for you."

Vaughan laughed. "You've got no say in this, oldster." One hand reached out, pushing Cyrion back and sending him stumbling.

"Father!" Kallian's voice cut through the din, and Zevran's heart iced over as he realized_ she_ was one of the two woman up for display. She rushed toward the elder, her strong hands bearing him up after Vaughan's rough treatment. The other girl cowered against the outer wall of the Tabris home, her frightened eyes glued to the ground. As for his love, the iron in her spine warmed his heart... she faced Vaughan with contemptuous eyes, the beginnings of a snarl twisting her mouth.

"Besides... today's not their lucky day... I'll wait til the wedding," the lordling smirked. "Prima nocta... Just when _is_ the blessed event?"

"You can't do this," another voice rang out. Every eye in the Alienage darted to Nelaros, who stepped out of the crowd, his fists tight with fury. "If the Teyrn of Highever were to find out-"

"Cousland?" Vaughan laughed in derision. "As if _he_ could do anything in Denerim. Politics, politics," he chided with a leering grin. "You must be her betrothed, no? How touching... he wants to fight for her honor." He gestured, and two of the other humans bulled forward to catch Nelaros' arms and hold them behind his back. The elf struggled, his eyes flashing as he fought to throw off his captors.

"Bravery... so misplaced," Vaughan said with a dramatic sigh, and drove his fist into Nelaros' gut. A collective outcry rang as the elf grunted, crumpling. Kallian cried out and rushed to his side as Vaughan's friends dumped Nelaros to the street and backed away, their part in the torment finished.

Kallian's arm circled his shoulder as he struggled to his feet, coughing. "Rot in the cold pit of the void, _shem_," Kallian spat as Nelaros straightened. "We're not your playthings!"

"Will no one come for _her_?" Vaughan indicated the other lass, who shrank further into the wall. The crowd hushed, though from the corner of his eye Zevran caught sight of Soris, Kallian's cousin and the young woman's intended. The young elf's neck had crimsoned, and he watched the ground, ashamed.

Vaughan smiled with dark amusement, a calculating, lewd warping of his face that sent a hush through the crowd. He stepped forward, one, two... his hand wrapped around Kallian's wrist, drawing a gasp from the girl as he hauled her forward. She struggled, wrenching herself out of his grasp and stepping back, her icy eyes boring into him as she adjusted her tunic.

"Don't touch me," she muttered in a voice black with unfettered hatred.

"Spirit..." he breathed. "I like that." Vaughan reached out again, catching both wrists and twisting. Kallian shrieked, and Zevran was on the verge of gutting the man, uncaring if he paid with his life. But before he could take even a single step, Vaughan sent her spiraling back into her fiancé's arms, then turned to face those assembled.

"My father has limited time," he boomed in a commanding voice. "It won't be long until I am made Denerim's arl... those who cooperate will find themselves in my favor. Those who do not..." he shrugged, then wandered off through the crowd. His cronies trailed behind, all but one of them grinning like jackals. The elves parted for him, cleaving away as though he were poisonous to the touch. Halfway through, he slowed, turned back. "Do send me a wedding invitation, won't you?" He sniggered. "Oh, wait, that's right - the wedding can't be performed without the arl's permission... don't bother, I'll just check the Chantry calendar. I'm certain Mother Perpetua will be happy to tell me when she plans on joining the happy couples."

With a flick of his hand, Vaughan commanded his friends to follow, and the group made their way out of the Alienage.

Zevran's teeth ground together, his fingers _itching_ to creep after the void-stricken man and end his pathetic life. Threatening not only Kallian, but essentially every elf in the Alienage... and all because they had no power, no proper representation. Forbidden to carry weapons, forbidden to attend school or organize. A better opportunity for abuse had never existed.

He _had_ to speak to Alistair and Lyra.

For now, he hurried to the Tabris family, holding his hand out to Cyrion. "Elder," he said. "Are you well?"

"Well enough," Cyrion griped, clasping Zevran's hand. "So you caught the show."

"Where is Valendrian?" The Alienage Elder was the closest thing they had to a leader - surely he would want to know what Vaughan had done and said?

"Left this morning on a trading trip," Cyrion said. "Shianni's gone with him - she's sort of his apprentice. When he leaves, things fall to me... though if ever there was a time for him to be here, it's now."

"Vaughan is the arl's son?" Zevran asked.

"A snake," Kallian hissed. "A Maker-damned asshole who deserves to be fed his own-"

"Enough, Kallian." Cyrion gave her a warning glance. "Yes, Vaughan is the arl's son. He's played this card a few times now... shown up the day of a wedding and rounded up the women for his own amusement. Those who resist..." he shook his head. "It's best not to resist."

"This would never happen in Highever," Nelaros vowed. "Teyrn Cousland would never stand for it."

"I'll rest easier when Kallian is there with you," Cyrion said offhandedly. "For now, though, the marriage-"

"You can't seriously be thinking of having the wedding _here_," Zevran put in. "With _him_ lounging in the wings? Really?"

"What would you suggest?" Cyrion slid him a hard look. "Are you saying I should send my _unmarried_ daughter to Highever?"

The unbelievable thought landed - Cyrion thought his daughter innocent. Zevran nearly laughed aloud. Kallian? Untouched? From the way she'd tackled him on their first date, Zevran very much doubted she'd been a virgin. She swung an effective blade, and her confident manner... He flicked a look at Nelaros. Was Kallian's intended laboring under a similar delusion?

For all their sakes, they were lucky he was taking her away.

"No, Elder," Zevran said smoothly. "But it seems as though someone should do something to stop this Vaughan from ruining the wedding day... does it not?"

"Zevran!" Excitement flooded Kallian's face. "You could speak to Lord Oghren! He could talk to the king, couldn't he? King Alistair is supposed to be a pretty nice guy, from what I hear!"

"He's unproven," Cyrion grumbled. "What people say and what is true are often two very different things."

"You've got connections to the king?" Nelaros whistled. "Wow... How long have you had _that_?"

"Lord Oghren is planning on staying in Denerim," Kallian said with a grin. "Zevran's a very important elf!"

"Sounds like it." Nelaros smiled. "So you can take care of this? You can make sure Kallian and Nesiara won't be harmed on our wedding day?" Looking shy, he reached for the hand of his betrothed. She jumped at his touch, guilty eyes darting at Zevran before she twined her fingers into his with an uneasy smile. Soris had collected Nesiara into his arms as well, and now the two of them crept forward, naked hope blooming on their faces.

Zevran made himself nod, biting back the jealousy that swarmed through him. "I shall do what I can."

"That would be most appreciated." Cyrion clapped Zevran on the back. "Valendrian is hopeful that things will improve around here, as well... what with the building of the school, and him being invited to the queen's ball as a representative for the Alienage..." Cyrion chuckled. "He was quite surprised to receive _that_ invitation. Perhaps these rulers _do_ deserve a bit more respect than Cailan and Anora."

"Denerim is set for vast improvements," Zevran agreed, his mind racing. "Cyrion, I wonder... The queen's ball. It will be quite busy for the nobility that day. Lord Oghren tells me there is much planned in the way of feasting and frivolity... Supposing the wedding were held then. Surely Vaughan would find himself far too busy with the social demands of his station to cause trouble."

Cyrion considered, a shrewd look on his face. "It's a good idea... though, Vaughan will know of our plans as soon as I make the arrangements with the Chantry."

"I... may have a connection," Zevran offered. "I know a lay sister - she may be able to perform the ceremony. Would that be sufficient?"

"You really _are_ connected," Nelaros grinned. He tucked an arm around Kallian's waist, much to the girl's discomfort. Seeing him hold her dug a nervous pit into Zevran's stomach, but he couldn't help quirking a lip at Kallian anyway - she rolled her eyes at him in return.

Cyrion nodded, looking pleased. "If we can keep this off the Chantry radar, I believe the wedding will go off without a hitch. As long as they're joined in the eyes of the Maker, it matters not to me who performs the ceremony."

"But you're still going to talk to Lord Oghren," Kallian insisted. "Fixing one wedding won't stop Vaughan forever. If he can talk to King Alistair, maybe we can actually get something changed around here! Get Anders to help - he's pretty quick on his feet."

"Do not worry... I shall make certain this reaches royal ears." _And if it doesn't, I might just take care of it myself, _he thought darkly. It had been too long since he'd had a contract.

"Thank you." Cyrion clapped a hand on Zevran's shoulder. "You're a good one, Zevran... Perhaps I misjudged you."

A faint smile touched Zevran's face, and he bowed, laying a hand on his heart. "My thanks, Elder."

"Come, Kallian. Nelaros, Soris, Nesiara." Cyrion gathered his family as a mother hen would her chicks, urging them through the Tabris door before glancing back. "Zevran, let me know what you come up with." With a last look of thanks, the elder shut the door, leaving Zevran alone on the porch.

Zevran glanced at the sun, then strode back toward the gates. Alistair usually spent a bit of time in the practice yard in the afternoons. With luck, he'd find the monarch there and corner him for a much needed discussion.

And besides which, despite his morning spent in the practice yard, his desire to hit something had only increased. Crossing swords with someone twice his size was just the thing he needed. That, or to quench his thirsting blade with Vaughan's noble blood.


	10. The Plan

**Chapter 10**  
**The Plan**

Zevran strode through the courtyard, skipping the main hall and heading for the stables - if Leliana was back, her beast would be within.

The sweet scent of cured hay met his nostrils, his boots crunching over the wisps that blanketed the packed earth. Horses were rare in Ferelden, though most of the nobility owned a beast or three for purposes of transport, and the king's stable was no exception. Even so, only a dozen horses were currently in residence - quite possibly the largest collection of horses in all the country, many of them obtained for the honeymoon trip only months before. With Lyra's Satinalia ball approaching, the grooms would soon find themselves with more horses than they knew what to do with. Fereldans were more interested in breeding dogs than mounts, though for what reason Zevran couldn't say. Unlike a horse, a dog could eat from your table and sleep in your bed, dragging its muddy paws through the linens and smearing drool over expensive clothing... Zevran's mouth twisted, recalling the time Kestrel had stolen a pair of his pants and rolled in the dirt with them. They'd been quite ruined. Compared to a horse, who was actually _useful_, Zevran couldn't understand the fascination the country held with mabari.

Leliana's gray palfrey stood within her stall, attended by a young groom with a curry comb while another brought fresh water and hay. They greeted Zevran, and upon his question told him that Leliana had arrived only moments earlier. He thanked them, his heart climbing into his throat as he thought of actually seeking her out.

Things had been strained, to say the least. Avoidance had been his preferred tactic, and so when he _had_ seen the pretty bard, the tension had been thick enough to slice. But things were different now... _Yes, now I need her help, _he thought with guilt. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so quick to condemn. Every woman should be free to choose the one she loved - just as Kallian should be free to choose himself over Nelaros.

The walk through the palace passed all too quickly, and soon he stood before her door. The last time he'd been here, he'd laid his heart at her feet, only to watch her run from him with tears in her eyes. Days of depression had followed - and had he not met his pear blossom, he imagined he'd still be fighting his way out of that dark place. Taking a deep breath to calm jumping nerves, he knocked.

Chatter and laughter from within the room, and then Leliana rocked the door open, her head still turned as she spoke to the female who sat upon her bed. That bright smile faded when her chin swiveled in his direction. Less bendable than steel, her guard rose, the transformation of her face thickening his guilt. "Zevran," she said in a non-committal voice. "May I help you with something?"

"Leliana," he began. "I would very much like to speak with you."

"Zev," Lyra's voice cut in. Soft footsteps as the queen made her presence known. "Aren't you done with this?"

"_Bella flor_-"

"No, you don't get to be dashing today, Zevran." Lyra crossed her arms, her chin lifting. The queen had the height of a warrior, and Zevran cleared his throat as she stared down her nose at him. "You're gone all the time, none of us hear from you for days, you and Anders and Oghren show up with some kind of story from the Alienage about magic and a school, and now you appear on Leliana's doorstep, wanting to get her alone? What am I supposed to think, here? You've mistreated her enough. No one stomps on my friends that way."

"Lyra," Leliana said softly. "Perhaps you should go."

Lyra's cerulean eyes slid from himself to Leliana, her mouth pursing. "Are you sure, Leli?"

"Quite sure, _ma chère._" Leliana reached for her hand and squeezed. "We will catch up later."

With a last hard look at Zevran, Lyra stepped around the two of them and made her way down the hall. Zevran exhaled as she left - Lyra could be intimidating when angry. Most pregnant women couldn't pull off the level of ire she'd just managed... it was most impressive.

"What is it, Zevran?" One slim hand lingered on the doorknob in readiness. Zevran's heart twisted a bit to see just how much trust had been lost.

"First, my firebird." He placed a hand over his heart. "You deserve my most abject apologies. Lyra was correct in her scorn... I have treated you most terribly, and it pains me to know I have caused you grief."

Leliana eyed him, weighing his words, her pale blue eyes measuring. "Why did you do that to me?"

"I..." Zevran swallowed. She had a direct way of cutting to the heart of the matter, and her point-blank question was typical for her. It hardly meant he was prepared to answer, though. "I shouldn't have," he began.

"But you did," Leliana said. Her arms folded over themselves as she angled against the doorjamb. "And it was cruel. Our arrangement was not meant to be serious - you _knew_ that. From the start - I _never_ led you on."

"And your mind was made up from the beginning. Yet, you left with Lyra and Alistair before giving me an answer, _dulce_. Is my hurt less than yours?" Zevran crossed his arms in return, one eyebrow lifting. "Are you so innocent in this?"

"I did not _kiss_ me," she shot back.

"And I did not leave me languishing for months," Zevran snapped, annoyance flaring. A fresh comment made ready to spring from his ardent tongue, but before it could land upon Leliana's ears he bit it back and swallowed. "This... gets us nowhere."

Leliana said nothing, her face a study in marble.

"I came to say I'm _sorry_," Zevran said, his arms dropping to his sides. "I was wrong. But, Leliana, can you claim that you were right?"

Slowly, the icy facade melted, her shoulders loosening as her posture relaxed. "No, I don't suppose I can." A wry smile teased the corners of her mouth, and she shifted her weight. "So... things are fine between us?"

"I would very much like to have my friend Leliana back." Zevran donned a charming smile, well aware of the affect it usually had on female members of any race.

Perhaps it worked, or perhaps Leliana simply decided to forgive him. Either way, her beautiful face twinkled as she slid a hand into his, white teeth flashing her happy grin. "Come in, Zev. I've missed you so much!"

* * *

"So, this Kallian..." Leliana tucked her ankles beneath her on the bed, pushing a strand of hair behind one ear as she adjusted. "She is beautiful, _non?"_

"As the morning breeze." Zevran leaned back upon his palms, crossing his ankles from his perch on the other side of the blanket. "She is the song within my blood, the melody that my heart beats to, and the note I wish to sing for all my days."

"Zev," Leliana crossed her hands over her neck, looking utterly enchanted. "That's _so_ poetic!"

He chuckled, enjoying Leliana's natural romanticism. "And for some reason, she seems to care for me as well."

"Well, it just proves that she's very, very smart," Leliana grinned. "So? When is the ceremony? Has she managed to trap you into it?"

"Ahh... yes," Zevran hedged. "See, here's the thing. She is... engaged to someone else."

Leliana quirked a brow. "Zevran, that's not nice."

"Perhaps. But hear me out. It wasn't something that was planned... you see, she was betrothed without her consent or knowledge. Her father arrived home and informed her that she was to be married to a man she'd never met, and bundled to Highever with the next shipment of sheep and beans." Zevran frowned, the gall of it still turning his stomach. "Tell me _that_ is nice."

"Alienage culture is what it is - it has been so for ages," Leliana said slowly, one finger tracing the coverlet. "So, what are you plotting - to run away with her before the wedding and lose yourself in some foreign country somewhere?"

Zevran said nothing, simply chewing the inside of his cheek as Leliana studied his face. After a moment, the bard nodded. "You're serious... and you have a plan."

"One that involves you, my firebird... tell me, are lay sisters able to officiate weddings?"

* * *

It had taken a bit of wheedling, but in the end he'd won out - Leliana had agreed to perform the ceremony on the day of the Satinalia ball. He planned to be there, as well - it would hardly look right if he wasn't. Kallian would be gone, however, and the following day, he would leave Denerim to meet her.

Before he could report back to Cyrion and the others, though, he had to speak with the monarchs. Much as he ached to take care of Vaughan on his own, doing so would cause no end of political grief for the two of them, and besides which they needed to _know_ about the difficulties the elves faced. If he knew they would continue to make improvements after he and Kallian had gone, he'd sleep easier at night. Seeing the plight of his ancestral race had awakened a protective streak in him.

Alistair was in the yard, sparring with Pascal, the Warden Commander. The two of them swung crude practice blades, stripped of the heavy leather practice armor in favor of light linen padding. Such was their skill that neither could land a blow, dancing back and forth across the dirt. Zevran hitched one leg up to lean upon the wooden fencing that surrounded the ring, grinning down at the newest Warden - a dwarf named Larkin, who lounged against the fence close by. "They are excellent at what they do, no?"

She shrugged. "Too proper, both of 'em. In Orzammar, that style only lives in the ring. In the tunnels? No rules." Since coming to the surface, the dwarf girl had gained a bit more color, and in the sun her red-gold hair gleamed with fire. "See there?" she gestured to the warriors. "King Alistair coulda kicked the commander just then - tripped him up - ended him with one thrust after he wen' down. But he didn' even _see_ that opening."

Zevran chuckled. "You are correct. Knowing an enemy's weakness - it is the secret to defeating them."

Larkin offered him a shy smile, but said nothing else. The fact that she'd spoken at all had surprised Zevran - in all the times he'd seen her in the yard, she'd been silent. At first, he'd even wondered if she belonged to the order of Silent Sisters, who showed their devotion to an ancient deity by cutting out their own tongues. Silly, in his opinion... tongues were such useful things.

He sucked in a breath - the guards! They were too proper. He'd been hovering around this same realization, cursing the training they'd had all their lives, training that relied on rules and fair play. Larkin's words, coupled with the clear demonstration of Alistair and Pascal...

A cheer went up as Alistair tripped over his own feet, tumbling into the dirt and getting a faceful of grit. Pascal's blade touched the edge of his neck, and the king rolled to his back with a rueful grin. "Well done, sir," he panted as Pascal pulled the blade back and offered him a hand up. "Don't tell my wife."

Lyra's voice shouted from across the ring. "You're getting lazy, Alistair!"

"She says this is lazy..." Alistair grumbled, one sleeve mopping his forehead, the linen smearing with perspiration and dirt. He taunted back, "Easy for an archer to say."

"Not my fault this is all I can do right now," Lyra countered cheerfully. "If Wynne allowed me to use a blade, I'd kick your ass."

"Come springtime, you're on," he challenged as a page trotted out a bucket of water to the overheated monarch. Chill though the weather was, both the king and the Warden Commander had worked up a hard sweat.

With a parting smile at Larkin, Zevran hopped the fence, jogging out to the king. "Alistair. Have you a moment?"

"Yes, most definitely. Save me from more of this," Alistair chuckled. "It looks bad if Pascal beats me more than once a day." He drank deeply of the dipper the page handed him, his breath coming easier as he came down from the high of battle. "Just me, or Lyra as well?"

"Perhaps it would be best to speak with both of you."

Alistair called to his wife, who loosed a final arrow and slung her bow over one shoulder, handing off the quiver of practice bolts to a fellow trainee. "Zevran! Good talk with Leliana?" Her demanding eyes bored into his.

"Very good," he said sincerely. "Much needed. Something I should have done far sooner."

Lyra nodded, pleased warmth filling her face. Slipping her fingers into her husband's, she pressed a quick kiss to his mouth. "Does duty call?"

"That depends." Alistair curled an arm around her waist as he turned back to Zevran. "This is probably more than a casual social visit, right? Lyra, look how serious he is."

Lyra pursed her mouth. "I dunno. It's hard to tell - we see so little of him of late." One sculpted eyebrow rose. "Are you going to tell us what's been going on, or..."

Zevran heaved a sigh, not relishing the thought of the explanation he owed them. "Not here. Your office?"

"Give me a few minutes to clean up," Alistair said.

Half an hour later, the three of them sat in Alistair and Lyra's office with the door closed against prying ears. In as few words as possible, Zevran outlined the situation for them - how he'd rented a room in a building in the Alienage in order to escape Leliana's constant presence, how he'd met Kallian Tabris, the troubles with Vaughan Kendalls, and how he wanted to spirit her out of town before she was tied to a marriage she would hate for the rest of her life.

Lyra nodded, intensity written on her face as her fingers twined with her husband's. "No woman should have to marry against her will. I'm glad you're taking her away."

Alistair puffed his cheeks. "Maybe so, but..." He shifted, uncomfortable. "You know if you'd _actually_ been engaged to Thomas Howe when we met, I'd never have..."

One corner of Lyra's mouth quirked. "Privileges of being a noble brat. I kicked and screamed enough that I was never engaged to _anyone_ before you. If I wasn't a Cousland, though, what I wanted wouldn't have mattered, and I can guarantee you that Kallian feels completely trapped."

Unease flitted across the king's face, perhaps at the idea that Zevran was essentially breaking up a marriage, but he nodded. "So, you found someone. That's excellent, Zev."

"What it means is I am leaving Denerim," Zevran continued, reaching his point. "But the elves... they will need help after Kallian and I have gone."

"It's been on our list," Lyra put in. "But you've actually been in there - lived it, so to speak. What needs doing?"

"The school, for one," Zevran crossed his ankles as he leaned on the desk. "Not many of them can read or write - most can count, simply because they are so very poor, every copper is precious, and none are willing to let their employers cheat them. For two, allow them to carry weapons. And on that subject - Vaughan. He must be prevented from the depravities he wishes to commit."

"Definitely," Lyra agreed. "We'll arrange a meeting with both him and his father, Arl Urien."

"The elves can be trained to weapon use - open the position of guard or soldier to them. There is no reason why the elves cannot defend their homeland alongside their human brethren."

"It's an archaic law, anyway," Alistair mused. "Though I suppose if you have a class of people you want beneath you, you should do everything possible to keep them beneath you, right?" He reached for vellum and a quill. "I'll write this up, but give me a few days to see about the proper processes - I haven't changed any laws yet." He chuckled. "Eamon'll have kittens."

"What else, Zevran?" Lyra had reached for her own quill, preparing to make a list of his recommendations.

"Elves should be allowed to own businesses, make deals for themselves - in short, they should be granted the same rights and freedoms as humans. Simple, no? The school in the Alienage is a good start, but it would be better if the elves were simply allowed to attend one of the Chantry schools, just as all of Denerim's children do." Zevran paused, wondering if any such thing would ever be accepted by the eldest generation of Alienage dwellers. Change would take a few generations, most likely... but the school in the Alienage would ensure that the current generation grew up better educated than their parents.

Lyra scrawled notes upon her vellum. "These are basic rights... This is the kind of change we wanted to be able to enact, Alistair." She set down her quill, reaching for her husband's hand, a fierce look shining from her blue eyes. "_This_ is why we took the throne from Anora."

"And glad I am," Zevran chuckled. "Now, unless you need to hear more from me, I have a wedding to arrange before I can steal away the bride."


	11. The Deception

_A/N: When discussing this chapter's title, I wanted something to do with lying. I suggested, "The Liar." Jaden came back with "Liar Liar Pants on Fire!" I said, "Every chapter in this story begins with "The". She said, "Fine. THE Liar Liar Pants on Fire!" I dissolved into giggles, and she followed that with "The Flaming Pantaloons of Deceit and Betrayal!"_

_While that didn't become the chapter title, it can't be denied that Zevran's wearing some pretty fiery britches of late. Enjoy, my loves. ;-)_

* * *

**Chapter 11**  
**The Deception**

"Three. Two. One. Drink!" Kallian's voice commanded them, and all around the table steins lifted, the barmy liquid warm and thin, but all the elven tavern served. Zevran gulped alongside the rest of them, thin streams of beer trickling down either side of his mouth as he sought to finish his cup before the others.

"DONE!" Oghren roared, his mug slamming to the table, a thunderous belch ripping the air. The ends of his rust-colored mustache dripped, coated with foam. Zevran finished his mug an instant later, and Kallian's stein hit the table next with a gleeful yell. Anders raised a fist of triumph as he drained his cup with a growl of success. Nelaros and Soris were done next, and Nesiara lowered her cup, looking a touch green.

Kallian dipped her fingers in the lass's stein and flicked ale at her, drawing a protesting gasp from the delicate woman. "Come on, Ness," Kallian giggled. "You have to _try_."

"I'm not an ale drinker," Nesiara complained. "I did have wine once-" she hiccupped. "At my sister's wedding three years ago. _That_ I could get used to."

"Damn shame that they don't got it here," Oghren graveled. "I should take all've ya to th' Gnawed Noble. They got th' lot there - ale, wine, spirits, hard liquor." He leered with a lecherous giggle. "And at th' Pearl, iss even better!"

"The Pearl? You mean..." Soris' eyes flicked to Kallian, the two of them exchanging a look of fascination. "Isn't that where-"

"Lord Oghren," Anders interrupted as he glanced at Nesiara, who looked mildly horrified. "You should sponsor the building of a new inn, alongside the school. After King Alistair's proclamation, I bet it would do great business. It could be an investment."

"Or just expand this one," Zevran suggested. "Oliver would do well with it, he's made this place work even with the limited business he can draw." The tavern's owner wiped glasses from behind the bar, nodding with enthusiasm when Zevran signaled him for another round.

"Hmm, could be," Oghren mused. "What procl'mation ya talkin' about, anyway?"

Zevran ground his teeth. "You know the one, Lord Oghren - you spoke with him just today." He trod on Oghren's boot beneath the table.

Soris yelped. "Hey!" He glared at Kallian, who had sandwiched herself between Nelaros and Zevran. "Really, Kal? Nelaros is right _there_ if you want to play footsie. Sweet Andraste, why do you wear those clodhoppers, anyway?"

"I didn't do it," Kallian said indignantly. "My feet are under the bench, Soris."

"Lord Oghren," Zevran cut her off, realizing his mistake. "You've drunk a bit much again. Shall Anders and I take you back to the palace?"

"Sodding elf," Oghren grumbled. "'M havin' fun here. I wanna hear 'bout this procl'mation Alistair's writin' up."

Zevran gave a weak laugh. Anders jumped in, saving him. "Lord Oghren, the ale really _does_ go to your head. Don't you recall? The one about the elves being allowed to carry weapons, and join the army and the guard. It's why we're celebrating, my liege!"

Oghren grunted and belched again.

"That, and the marriage!" Nelaros grinned. "I'm so relieved to know nothing will happen on our wedding day. Many thanks, Lord Oghren." He bowed his head at the dwarf. "The elves sure were lucky the day you showed up!"

"Mm? Oh. Right." Oghren sniffed.

"Any of you feeling patriotic enough to join up? I hear you're quite good with a sword, Miss Kallian." The mage's eyes twinkled as he gave her a charming smile.

"Maker, I would in a heartbeat!" Kallian's voice was fervent. Oliver, the barkeep, arrived then with a pitcher of ale, refilling their cups. Nesiara waved him off, protective fingers curling around her still-mostly-full stein.

Oghren shuffled his hand in his pouch, retrieving a silver piece and tossing it to the elven barkeep, who seemed overjoyed as he hurried back to the bar. Zevran knew why - he typically charged a single copper for ale. Even at that, it was terribly expensive for the impoverished culture, with most elves earning anywhere from two to seven coppers a day for their labors. With Oghren throwing a silver at Oliver everytime their cups were refilled, the elf would long bless this profitable day.

"How about you, Nelaros?" Anders turned his gaze to the elf beside Kallian. "Any thoughts of joining the army or guard?"

"It's different in Highever. But maybe once Teyrn Cousland sees the changes King Alistair is making, he'll follow suit," Nelaros said. "But besides which, I've got a good job with a fishmonger. Kallian won't need to do anything but start our family and keep house when we get there." He turned a bashful smile on his fiancée. "Unless she wants to, of course. Far be it for me to stop her from doing anything!"

Kallian said nothing, tracing the lip of her mug with one finger.

"Are we here to talk, or to drink?" Zevran demanded in a cheerful voice. "Kallian, count it off!"

* * *

The silver-dusted moon hovered over the trees in the clearing. There had been further weapons training following the celebration in the tavern, but now it was just them, stealing a last few moments before Kallian needed to return home. The night had turned chilly, and Zevran tucked Kallian's new cloak around her shoulders, his fingers lingering over the antiqued gold buttons. She thought them brass - just as well. Should anything ever happen to her, she could trade the buttons for far more than she suspected.

"Zevran, this is too much," she protested. "Lord Oghren didn't have to do this."

"He wanted to," Zevran chided her gently. "When he saw the patchwork quilt you were wearing before, he commanded me to take myself to the market and purchase you the finest cloak I could find. I was merely following orders, my pear blossom."

"He's far too kind," she said, one corner of her mouth lifting. "And he knows you're leaving him soon?"

"The day after Satinalia," Zevran confirmed. "As for you, my love. You will leave the morning of the wedding, or even the night before. Perhaps that's best - I could help you leave town, then."

"No," Kallian shook her head. "No risks. You can't be spotted leaving with me, even if you come back afterward. If anyone sees you, it would be bad."

She was right, but it didn't make it easier. Finally, he nodded, finishing with buckling the clasp at her throat. "King Alistair's changing of the law will make things easier on you. You can openly carry your sword, so none will challenge you - and if they do, you can claim self defense without fear."

"It almost makes me wish we were staying in Denerim," Kallian murmured, her hands seeking his. "King Alistair and Queen Lyra are bound to make so many improvements, especially with Lord Oghren reminding them about the elves." She shuddered, grim humor contorting her eyebrows. "Can you believe Nelaros earlier - saying I wouldn't need to do anything in Highever but start our family?"

"He made it sound as though you'd be the only one involved," Zevran teased. "Do you suppose he knows where everything goes?"

"Who cares. I'm not going to be the one to teach him," Kallian snorted. "Children... no thank you. I barely know what _I'm_ doing - I don't want to be responsible for someone else's life."

"They do not appeal to me, either," Zevran admitted. "Though I find myself anticipating the birth of the queen's child. You know, she and King Alistair never thought they would have children, so they are _most_ excited."

Kallian wrinkled her nose. "Babies. I guess they're cute... but smelly. And demanding. Why anyone would submit themselves to that... It's just more proof that Nelaros needs a wife who's less like me and more like... I dunno. Nesiara, maybe. Too bad they're cousins - they seem like quite a pair."

"Soris seems to like her," Zevran commented.

"Good for Soris. As for me, I think if I were to marry Nelaros, I'd end up killing him over the dinner table one night."

The image she conjured brought a chuckle to Zevran's lips. "Twelve days, my blossom. I will continue to make arrangements with Lord Ogren. You will have money, a place to go to await me, and then I shall join you and we will leave Denerim forever."

"Where are we gonna go first?" Kallian grinned as her fingers twined with his, the two of them beginning a slow ramble back through the trees.

"Where would you like to go first?"

"Hmm..." she pondered. "What about the Free Marches? We could get a ship from... Gwaren? Is that where ships leave from? Though it seems dumb to go that far south just to go north again, doesn't it?"

Zevran chuckled. "There are ships that leave from Denerim as well, though it would be wiser for us not to wait for one to arrive in port. I have friends among the Dalish, as well - though it is possible that they have gone to the Hinterlands by now. King Alistair and Queen Lyra gifted the land to them after the Blight."

Kallian shook her head, amazed. "Wow... sometimes I wonder if there's a lot you aren't telling me, Antiva." She threw him a grin. "But I'll have all the time in the world to hear all your stories, I guess!"

Zevran chuckled, though his stomach flipped at her comment. _Another week, and it will not matter_, he thought. _We will both begin life anew._

They walked a bit further, then Zevran pulled her close. "You should go on ahead without me, Kally. I will go back to the palace to see if Lord Oghren needs anything else from me for the evening."

Kallian snuggled into his embrace. "Antiva... I don't know what I did to have you drop into my life like this."

Zevran tipped her chin up and joined his lips to hers. _That makes two of us_, he thought.

* * *

The days drifted by, and Zevran brought Leliana into his training sessions with the guards, appreciating her willingness to take on his assumed duties. Every day she did a bit more until she'd taken over completely, leaving Zevran free to spend most of his hours in the Alienage. He ramped up his lessons with the elves, truly amazed at how quickly most of them learned. Though none could call themselves masters, they'd grasped the basics well enough that if they were cornered, Zevran could tell they'd at least have a fighting chance. Especially the women - they'd been most creative when he'd lessoned them on improvised weapons.

Snow had fallen on Denerim a few nights previous, and only two days remained before the wedding - one day before Kallian's escape. He cursed the snowfall - she would leave tracks. He would have to advise her how best to camouflage her trail.

Zevran strode through the Alienage, running things over in his mind, trying to recall anything he might have forgotten. He'd arranged a room for her at the inn in Dunngath, and some well-placed coin had guaranteed that she wouldn't be questioned. A pouch of gold and a new sword awaited in her room - a last gift from "Lord Oghren" before their journey. He'd collected the necessities for their trip - bedrolls, supplies, some new clothing for Kallian and himself. Leliana had obtained a Chantry robe for her own use, and Alistair had spoken with Arl Urien. Vaughan had fled Denerim on a hunting trip - he wasn't even due _back_ for another week. There was no chance of him spoiling the wedding now, and once he did return, he would find himself victim to a harsh inquisition by the monarchs. Apparently, Lyra was aware of Vaughan's personality - she'd known him as a teenager, and had no intention of allowing him anywhere near the Alienage. There were times when being friends with a very pushy queen was advantageous.

Everything seemed in readiness. So why the gnawing anxiety? Try as he might, he could not rid himself of the feeling that there was something he'd forgotten, something that could go awry...

"Zevran."

His head snapped to the side, hand touching the dagger he now wore openly on his belt. Cyrion Tabris strode toward him, and his gut clenched. "Elder Tabris." He bowed. "How may I assist you?"

Cyrion held out his hand. "I want to thank you for all your help these past weeks." His grip was firm. "I know you wished to wed Kallian yourself... your maturity in this odd situation has been most appreciated. You're a far better man than I thought when first we met." The elder smiled. "In truth... had I known then what I know now of you, I might have attempted to break the contract. Your connections and the things you've managed - it's nothing short of amazing. And I'm not unaware of my daughter's feelings for you."

Zevran swallowed. The words were meant kindly, but hearing them from Cyrion was akin to a hot knife in the belly. "It was not meant to be, I suppose."

"If you still seek a wife, Kallian's cousin Shianni will soon be of age. If you'd like, we could discuss her bride price. Normally I would seek someone from another city for her, but as you did not grow up here in Denerim you would be suitable. And the Tabris clan would be pleased to call you family." The man's tone was suggestive, as though Zevran would delight in knowing he could still have a Tabris girl if he wanted her - as though they were interchangeable.

Zevran's mouth fell open, blinking, his voice leaving him as he processed the man's words. "Ahh... Elder, I... I thank you. Shianni is a fine girl. One who would make any man a fine wife. But I am not interested in marriage at this time."

Sadness touched the elder's eyes. "Only Kallian, then."

Zevran gave a slow nod. "Yes, sir."

Cyrion nodded in return, regret furrowing his forehead. "I wish there was something I could do. But the match between Nelaros and Kallian was arranged for months before you arrived. The two of them would have been married sooner, but the Blight brought everything to a standstill, and before that the massacre at Highever ground negotiations of any type to a halt. In fact, I didn't even_ tell _her of the plans until he was nearly here, because things were so up in the air..." he stopped, shaking his head. "I apologize, none of that is important. The point is, if I had it within my power, I would change things, Zevran. I regret that I do not."

Zevran nodded, schooling his uncaring mask into place. "It matters not, now. I only hope he will care for her in the way she deserves."

"He will," Cyrion promised. "He's quite taken with her." He hesitated. "You're a good man, Zevran. Maker's blessing upon you."

Zevran bowed his head. "And upon you, Cyrion." The elder gifted him with a last smile before striding off.

Guilt simmered within him. The reasons he'd repeated to himself a thousand times - the disrespect that Tabris had shown him in the past, Kallian's own words about how miserable she would be in such a marriage, the simple-minded smile that lit Nelaros' face when he looked at her - they swirled within his head, combating the heavy lump in his chest. The fact remained that he had lied to everyone, that there wasn't a single person in the Alienage who knew him for who or what he was, that he'd gained accolades and admiration on the back of a drunken dwarf and a show-offy mage.

_I care not what Tabris thinks_. But with every day that passed, Kallian came closer to discovering the truth about him, and _that_ terrified him more than anything. If she found out he'd been lying to her the entire time, what would happen?

In the past, he'd cared nothing for anyone but himself. Even his love for Rinna had been selfish, the two of them able to slit a throat or steal a sackful of gold without thought for the grief they were spawning. But coming to Ferelden had changed him, and seeing his ancestral relatives struggle simply to live had affected him more than he'd known.

From the moment she'd met him, Kallian had seen in him a person he'd never recognized himself as - someone honest, someone able, someone _noble_.

Rather ridiculous that he'd had to lie to her to appear that way.

But in only a few more days, he could truly become the person she thought he was, and forever leave behind the stamp of his old life. If he could only keep her in the dark for a bit longer...

He shook himself, dismissing the black mood that threatened. None of it mattered. Reinventing oneself was simply a part of life. Had not Alistair done exactly the same thing - gone from beggar to king? It was all in the way one was viewed. He'd managed far more complex capers than this in the past - there was no reason why this one should not succeed, as well. Once he and Kallian left Denerim, the world would be theirs. They could go anywhere, be anything. Who they were now mattered not at all.

Tamping back the uneasiness, he hurried on, ignoring the worming feeling in the pit of his stomach.


	12. The Wedding

**Chapter 12**  
**The Wedding**

The elves assembled in the square on the afternoon of Satinalia, excitement rippling through the crowd as they milled and talked. Today's wedding would be larger and more elaborate than usual, for a few reasons. It wasn't just one marriage, but two, and one half of each couple was a member of the Tabris clan. That alone meant the food and ale would be excellent. Zevran felt a touch sorry for Cyrion, who would no doubt be beggared by the event. Especially since his daughter wouldn't even be there.

Zevran had seen Kallian off at the edge of town early that morning. Sneaking her past the guards had been simple enough, though he'd been worried about what would happen once she _left_ town. Kallian could take care of herself, true. But supposing she got lost, or was waylaid, or...

"Quit worrying," she'd teased him as he tucked her hood around her hair. "I'm not some fragile little flower, no matter _what_ you like to call me."

He'd touched the map she'd tucked into her belt. "You know the way to Dunngath."

"I got it," she'd agreed. "I could probably find it in my sleep."

"And you're to give the name-"

"Rinna. I know. Zev, we've gone over and over this. I'll be _fine_."

"Be cautious," he'd begged her. "Do not try and be heroic. If someone comes upon you - hide before you fight. Use your sword to defend only, and only if necessary."

"You're taking all the fun out of this," she'd complained, but he'd silenced her with a kiss.

"I just don't want to lose the most precious thing I've ever found," he'd murmured as his nose brushed hers. "_Promise_ me, Kallian."

A noisy sigh. "Fine. I promise!"

And so she'd gone, stepping within the wheel ruts that sliced through the snow as he'd instructed her. A cheerful wave from his pear blossom, and then he'd forced himself to cross back through the grand gates of Denerim, hoping the dreadful gnawing in the pit of his stomach could be attributed to the cheese he'd eaten the evening previous.

Now the Alienage had readied itself for the glorious event. Faded paper garlands fluttered from the second-story windows, a riot of washed-out color amidst the drab setting. The elves had donned their simple best; most of the women had tucked flowers made of ribbons into their hair, and some of the garments Zevran saw looked as though they'd spent more time in storage than on the line. So most of the elves _did_ have fancy clothing - though, if he thought about it, Zevran was willing to bet most of them had worn the garments to their _own_ wedding ceremonies. _Waste not, want not_, he thought.

"Zevran!" Nelaros hurried toward him, a bright smile on his face. "I have to thank you, my friend." He stuck out his hand. "Without you, today never would have happened!"

"Think nothing of it," Zevran forced a smile onto his face. The anxiety building within his gut had him glancing away, but Nelaros pulled his attention back with another bit of useless smalltalk.

"Elder Tabris really put together quite a party, didn't he?"

"Indeed. Pardon me, Nelaros, I have something I must see to." Zevran made his escape before the well-meaning elf could fill his ears with more idle chit chat.

Time dragged. Zevran continually glanced at the sun, tracking its plunge toward the horizon. The elves seemed not to mind the cold, enjoying Cyrion's food and drink as they awaited the ceremony. When Leliana finally showed up, wearing the robe of a Revered Mother, a tremendous weight lifted from Zevran's shoulders - at last, the final performance could begin. Though he'd promised Kallian he wouldn't leave the Alienage until tomorrow, if he could manage it, he'd be gone as soon as the ceremony ended.

Cyrion thought Kallian to be with Shianni and Nesiara, preparing for the ceremony. Nesiara thought Kallian was preparing on her own - Shianni had managed a fine bit of quick talking there, something Zevran had thanked her for. She'd scoffed in return - "Like I'm gonna let my cousin miss out on _you_?" With a saucy grin, she'd run off, leaving Zevran to chuckle at the spirit it seemed every Tabris girl possessed. One thing Shianni didn't share with her cousin, though - the redhead had only begun learning weaponry at Zevran's lessons. Despite her natural agility and willingness to learn defensive skills, the girl had shied away from using actual steel.

Leliana had begun speaking with Cyrion Tabris, and now she took herself to a platform that had been erected at the base of the Vhenadahl tree. "Well then!" she caroled. "Shall we get this wedding started?"

A hearty cheer went up, and the elves arranged themselves around the tree, anticipation thick in the air. Zevran stood at the back, not wanting to draw too much attention to himself. When it was discovered that Kallian was gone, he wanted to be in plain sight - but there was no reason to be flashy. Neutral was best.

Leliana lifted her lute, her fingers strumming a gentle rhythm over the strings. "Join me in singing," she invited, her haunting soprano lilting an ancient song of elven celebration. _Trust Leliana to know the music_, Zevran thought with humor. It set the tone, and the Alienage seemed touched by magic as the bard sang. The late afternoon sun kissed the rooftops, a lazy breeze ruffling the evergreen leaves of the Vhenadahl.

The sound of hooves over cobblestone broke the golden mood, and Zevran whipped around to see none other than Vaughan Kendalls riding full out toward the Alienage gate. His heart clenched - it was too late to do more than bellow a warning, and Leliana's lute cut off as elves shouted in panic and fright. The black destrier pounded through the crowd, uncaring of the elves who shrieked and dove out of the way. A few others followed on their own warhorses, the beasts snorting and sweating as the humans reined them to a halt near the platform.

Vaughan laughed, a cruel, amused sound. "How lucky I returned in time... having a wedding without me, were you?"

"Zevran," Leliana called. "Get Alistair and Lyra!"

"I don't think so, pet," Vaughan said pleasantly. He snapped his fingers, and for the first time Zevran saw the bound and struggling figure atop one of the smaller horses, her green eyes filled with panic.

"Kallian?!" Cyrion gasped, taking a bleak step forward. "But-"

"I found this tempting morsel wandering the forest," Vaughan continued. "Apparently, she's laboring under the delusion that elves are now allowed to carry weapons... but when she told me the wedding was today, I simply had to get back right away."

The second Zevran had spotted Kallian in the arms of the thug on the horse, he'd begun shoving through the crowd, heart in his throat, a red haze filming his vision. His fellow elves were all too happy to let him through, having begun their own noisy, panicked flight to safety. Vaughan's head snapped in his direction, a snarl twisting his noble lips as he called an order to one of his henchmen.

The dagger that was thrown was all too easy to avoid, and Zevran spun away as the blade flew past. He'd nearly reached Vaughan when Kallian's panicked gasp captured his attention.

Her gag had been shoved down from her mouth, a bright flush crimsoning her cheeks, fear sparkling in her eyes as she trembled beneath her captor's knife. His blade was laid against her throat, and Zevran felt his own terror rise when he spotted the crimson drops sliding down the silvered metal. "Please!" he cried, his feet slowing. "Do not kill her!"

"Back off, hero," Vaughan snarled. "You'll get your bride back - after I'm done with her." The nobleman drew his sword, pointing it at Cyrion Tabris. "Where are the other women?"

The elf drew himself up, a proud, defiant look in his eyes. "No."

"Father," Kallian whispered. Whether she was begging for him to give in or be strong, Zevran never discovered. A second dagger was thrown - and Cyrion did not possess the quickness or agility of Zevran.

A shocked breath slipped past Cyrion's lips as he folded around the knife embedded in his stomach, his eyes going wide with agony. Leliana cried out, catching the elf as he crumpled. Kallian screamed, a crazed, terrified sound, cut off by a gulp and a sob as the knife pressed deeper into her own throat.

Zevran's mind raced, calculating his chances to do - _anything_. Throw his own blade - but at who? The one who held Kallian? He'd never been so afraid of missing. At Vaughan? Who was to say the bastard's friends wouldn't simply kill her anyway?

"You cannot do this," Leliana hissed. "The king and queen will hear of this!"

"Who's going to tell them, Sister - you?" Vaughan laughed again. "I think you'd find my family's monthly contribution to your Chantry a bit light in that case."

"The Maker will punish you," Leliana vowed in a hard voice. "Any who commit such atrocities in His eyes are not worthy of His kingdom!"

"The only one you should be worried about right now, sister, is the one dying in your arms. He'll need last rites," Vaughan declared, sounding bored. His blade swung, seeking Nelaros and Soris. "The women."

A nearby door opened, Shianni's red head peeking out. Her timing couldn't have been worse - Vaughan spotted the movement and gestured, and within seconds his henchmen had manhandled the girls out of the house and onto their horses.

"Zev!" Kallian yelled.

"Shut up, whore," her jailer snarled.

"Don't let him die, Zevran," Kallian begged. "Please!" Her fingers gripped the arm that held her own death, her chin lifting as tears slid down her cheeks. "Please, Zev," she whispered, her breath labored.

"Let's go!" Vaughan dug his heels into his horse. The animal reared, neighing and tossing his head, and the four spurred their beasts and took off, leaving nothing but a cloud of dust in their wake.

Feeling his heart ripped from his body, Zevran watched as Vaughan carried off the woman he loved. Teeth clenched, his hands balled into fists, the man's colorful death and the thousand ways to enact it blinding him to anything else.

"Zevran. Quickly," Leliana's voice recalled him to the present. He spun, taking in the sight of Nelaros and Soris kneeling beside Cyrion's huddled body, still cradled in Leliana's embrace. "Get Wynne. He needs a healer."

"And Kallian needs rescue!" he cried.

"Zevran, now!" Leliana's voice was nothing less than a command, and despite his better instincts Zevran found his feet carrying him toward the palace at a flat-out run.

The sun had dropped below the horizon when he arrived at last with Wynne in tow. He'd been tempted to bring Anders instead - the man could run faster and was stronger than their elderly friend, but Wynne had insisted. "Anders must stay here, in case something happens."

"What could happen?" Zevran had demanded, feeling somewhat strangled.

"A palace full of nobility? Let's just say I'm not willing to take chances," Wynne had returned, throwing supplies into a bag. She'd tossed them to Zevran a moment later, telling him to lead the way. For all her years, she was still spry, and they made fair time back to the Alienage.

Leliana and Soris had moved Cyrion to his home, and Leliana had applied some basic first aid, wrapping Cyrion in clean bandages and removing his tunic. It seemed the countless hours she'd spent with their favorite healer had not been wasted, for Cyrion looked as well as he could, though the scarlet blossoming over the linen did nothing to settle Zev's stomach. Cyrion's eyes were closed, his skin ashen and beaded with sweat. Nelaros paced nearby, while Soris perched in a wicker chair, one knee jiggling as he chewed his fingernails.

Wynne wasted no time, but knelt at Cyrion's side, her eyes closing as her outstretched hand hovered over his midsection.

"Zevran, who-"

"A friend," Zevran said in a terse voice, cutting Soris off. Nelaros had ceased his pacing, focusing on the white-haired human.

Wynne's visage did not change, and yet it was clear that she labored, her concentration a palpable thing. Finally, Cyrion relaxed as streams of golden light coiled around him, a natural sleep smoothing the pain from his eyelids. Nelaros and Soris slumped with relief.

Wynne's mouth had pressed into a thin slash, a network of fine lines creasing her eyes as she clenched them tight. Leliana moved close, one hand laying upon Wynne's shoulder, but when it was done the mage went boneless into her arms.

"Maker," Leliana swore, the holy name profaned by her mouth. "She's fainted. She _can't_ do this - she thinks she can, but... Zev, you must get Alistair and Lyra. I'll stay here with Wynne and Cyrion-"

"What would they do?" Zevran protested. "It is Satinalia - Lyra's ball. They will be at dinner now, and it may take them hours to get away and do _anything_ useful. I cannot simply run and get them every time there is a problem. In Antiva, we had ways of taking care of these things."

Leliana cocked a brow. "You're not suggesting-"

"I am," he cut her off. "Vaughan will die before the evening is out."

"Zevran," she warned, her voice low and warning. "Even when Lyra was kidnapped, we didn't rush in without a plan. You _should not_ do this alone."

"_You _cannot come with me, and who else would I trust?" he pointed out. "Leliana, I will not wait. I'm going." Thus decided, he strode toward the door, only to be cut off by Nelaros and Soris.

"So are we."

Zevran ground his teeth. "Out of my way. You two are not ready for this."

"We can fight," Soris insisted, his chin thrust upward. "You've been teaching us!"

"Zevran..." Nelaros stepped toward him, the look on his face as serious as death. "This is Kallian we're talking about... she's going to be my wife. You can't keep me from doing this."

Zevran's eyes fell shut. His body thrummed with tension, every pore tingling with the need to _go_, to charge into Vaughan's estate and slit every throat he came across. The unpleasant reminder that he'd be saving her only to hand her over to another... It mattered not. He couldn't simply _leave_ her there, knowing what was likely happening at this very moment.

"Fine," he bit out. "I take no responsibility for your young hides. Stay close, and do exactly as I say." Shoving past Nelaros, he strode off into the gathering night, unnoticing of the chilled snow that drifted down to powder his shoulders.


	13. The Sacrificial Lamb

**Chapter 13**  
**The Sacrificial Lamb**

"Is that the house?" Nelaros' whisper cut through the quiet night.

"How should I know?" Soris stumbled, his foot thudding against the cobbles. "Shit!"

"Shhh," Zevran hissed, shooting a frigid glare back at the two men who trailed behind him. Why he'd agreed to bring them along at all he couldn't recall, not over all the noise they were making. "If the two of you do not cease this incessant prattle I'll slit your throats and leave you to bleed out on the ground."

Widened eyes met his, and Zevran sighed, turning back to survey the house once more. He was fairly certain it was Vaughan Kendall's estate, but it wasn't as if the man had hung a sign. Why hadn't he thought to find out where the scumbag lived, especially after his first appearance in the Alienage? He'd never have let such a detail slip in Antiva. One kept one's friends close, but one's enemies closer.

Zevran's eyes lit upon a small stable, and with a whispered command to Nelaros and Soris, he crept through the yard, leaving his followers to wait for the moment. Wrapping himself in the shadows, Zevran trained his sharp ears for any disturbance. He froze at the halfway mark, pressing his back flat against the manor house, merging himself with the stone.

A patrolman strolled through the yard, each step _thud, thud, thudding_ over the cobbles. Zevran shut his eyes, praying for the two idiots in the bushes to _hold still_. Surely even _they_ saw the man and knew what would happen if they were caught.

The yard was clear a moment later, and Zevran sagged with relief, allowing himself a vulnerable moment before he continued his journey toward the stable. Pressing his ear to the rough wooden door, he listened - no voices within, no sweeping or carrying, just the gentle sounds of animals eating.

His blade found its way to his hand, fingers wrapping around the hilt of the dagger - just in case. Zevran fished in his pouch, finding a flask of oil he kept for just such a purpose. A liberal splash on the hinges, and he urged the door open, inch by agonizing inch.

The oil did its job, and Zevran slipped through the entryway on silent feet, his eyes skimming the stalls.

Vaughan's black warhorse blinked at him from its cell, placid as can be. Nearby, a silver-tooled saddle sat on a stand, along with...

Kallian's cloak.

The rich fabric had been bundled around a few items, and Zevran opened the wrapping, discovering the pouch of gold, the supplies, and Kallian's new sword. She was weaponless... defenseless.

Molten anger surged in Zevran's chest. He was out of the stable seconds later, muscles tight with the need to race to the manor and break the door down. Such actions would help no one, though, and he'd promised Soris and Nelaros they could come with him.

With a heavy sigh, he returned to the bushes, gesturing for the two young men to follow.

"What did you find?"

"Is it his house?"

"How do we get in?"

"Mother's mercy, will you two _shut up!_"

* * *

Zevran crept down the servants' stair, his arms loose at his sides, knife held at the ready. It had yet to taste blood, to his surprise... They'd found a back entrance easily enough, but it seemed that Vaughan's staff were in the habit of minding their own business when the master had 'company'. Not a soul had met them in challenge, not a footstep had fallen save their own.

While it had certainly made things easier, Zevran couldn't dismiss the unease that grew in the pit of his belly. What kind of a man inspired such fear that his own servants hid from him? Every room they passed through increased his panic, his distress for Kallian squeezing the air from him chest. An anxious lump clogged his throat, further hindering his breathing, and no amount of swallowing could make it go away.

The hallways ended at last, and a sprawling foyer opened before them, with twin staircases leading up either wall. Tasteful wealth pervaded the atmosphere, much as in Denerim's castle, though Zevran barely noticed. Many were the noble homes he'd broken into, and Vaughan Kendalls' manor was no different.

"Maker's breath..." Nelaros gaped. "Look at this place."

"It's disgusting," Soris snipped. "Look how he lives. What gives _him_ the inborn right to this life? Bloody shem."

"There," Zevran whispered. "The hallway at the top - the lamps are blazing."

"What are we waiting for?" Nelaros returned. "If she's up there, let's go get her!"

"Wait," Zevran snapped. "We cannot simply rush in. We are three, they were at least six, and if I am to save Kallian as well as keep your young hides intact-"

"We're no younger than _you_," Soris bit out. "Nesiara's in there, too! We can take them!"

"Talk sense, Soris" Zevran said sarcastically. "This is not play. They will gut you, and they will not be sorry for it."

Kallian's cousin flushed, his short sword gripped in knuckles gone white. "Fine," he muttered at last. "What do we do?"

Zevran's mind grasped for a solution. How to keep Nelaros and Soris alive and still save Kallian and the girls? If he were alone, he might manage it - but on the other hand, once he breached the room, he'd be fighting for his _own _life, and would have little control over what could be done for the women...

"I'll go in," he whispered. "You and Nelaros stay out here. I'll send the girls out while I handle Vaughan and his men, and then the five of you run."

"That's a good plan," Nelaros agreed. "Except for how you're alone and we can't help you at all. Maker's sake, Zevran, let us come with you!"

"Bluntly, Nelaros? You're a hindrance," Zevran said, tired of dancing around their feelings. "If we all go in there, I have three backs to watch, and getting us all out alive is a slim-to-none chance. This way, the girls escape, I can be confident in the fact that you will guide them safely back to the Alienage, and..."

"And you'll be the only one dead," Nelaros finished for him. His face went steely, and he shook his head. "Not letting you do this."

"Nelaros, there's no time," Zevran growled. "You and Soris stay here, and Maker help you if you follow me, because no one else will!"

Turning on his heel, he stalked off toward the stairs, intent on ignoring anything else the men might say or do. Too many minutes had been wasted; Kallian needed him. And Vaughan's neck had an appointment with his blade.

The cool collectedness he'd cultured during his years as a Crow flowed over him, his emotions put aside in the face of this challenge. Very few could best him when he put his mind to it. Lyra had commented once that if he was really so good, Alistair shouldn't have been able to defeat him so handily upon their first meeting. "Ah, my flower," he'd chuckled. "Then, I was seeking my own death... my attempts at defense were half-hearted at best."

Cocky, most called him; full of himself, overconfident. But if a thing is true, can it really be considered bragging? Did Alistair brag when he talked of his templar abilities, or Lyra when she described her talent with her daggers? Leliana could tear your heart with a song, Wynne could bring one back from death's very door.

And Zevran could stop a man's breath in seconds - with steel or poison, in a darkened room or a busy street, and be gone before the victim knew his life was ended.

Zevran laid his ear against the door, uncertain of what to expect. Feminine voices could be heard; frightened, with the distinct sound of crying. Zevran's heart clenched - but there was nothing else. No harsh commands, no rough male timbre.

Enough. He tested the door, finding it unlocked, then decided a brazen approach was best, drew his second dagger and kicked it open, pouring every drop of bridled rage into it.

The door splintered beneath his boot, slamming against the inner wall with a sharp crash. Zevran came up short, chills racing over his skin at what he saw.

Kallian, with her arms around Shianni and Nesiara both. Surrounding them... were Vaughan Kendalls and his companions, their lifeless bodies littering the chamber.

Kallian's head whipped back to the door, her eyes frightened, then pure relief shone when she saw him. "Zevran!" She released the girls, meeting him halfway as he strode into the room, sheathing his daggers.

The stony exterior Zevran had donned melted the second he saw her, his need to have her in his arms overriding everything else. She rushed to him, his name bubbling from her lips, swallowed by the fervent kiss that began the second he crushed her into his embrace. A sob welled from Zevran's throat, his breath quickening as he reassured himself that she lived, that all was well. Hard, demanding, teeth scraped flesh as their mouths begged for more, lingering fear filling them with desperate passion.

Zevran clasped her face, sliding his fingers back to card into her hair and resting his forehead on hers as their lips parted. "Kallian. You live."

"I knew you would come," she whispered in a broken voice, her fingers wrapping around his wrists. "Thank the _Maker_ you've come."

Rust-colored blood splattered her arms and clothing. Dried flecks of it freckled her face, her right hand dipped scarlet to the knuckles. A long scratch adorned her left forearm, her right cheek bleeding from a gash below her eye. Sweat and grime marred her golden hair, bedraggled tendrils hanging around her face. One thigh was soaked with blood, the cloth ripped where she'd been slashed, though she didn't limp - superficial, most likely.

It mattered not. Kallian was alive, and never had she looked so lovely.

Much as Zevran ached to hold her, an expedient exit was better for all concerned. Time for such things later. Dragging his eyes from his pear blossom, he focused on Shianni and Nesiara. Only then did he notice the broken bottle gripped in Shianni's fist, the gleaming edges stained sanguine. Nesiara, too, was armed; her weapon of choice the splintered leg of a chair. His eyes widened, brows rising as an incredulous laugh tumbled from his lips... Apparently, Kallian hadn't fought alone. Shianni sported a blackening eye, her nose swollen and bleeding. Nesiara seemed fine, though her fancy dress had been torn. So his lessons had paid off.

"Quickly. We must go. Soris and Nelaros are downstairs," he urged, and the girls came running.

They'd almost made the door when Nelaros appeared in the entry, his eyes lighting with relief upon seeing them alive. "Kallian," he breathed, rushing forward to take her in his arms. "I'm so glad! Maker's blade, you're bleeding! Are you alright?"

Zevran stepped back, his stomach twisting. Soris pushed his way past Nelaros, and Nesiara burst into tears as she flung herself into the young man's arms. "Soris," she sobbed. "It was _horrible..._"

"It's over," Soris soothed her. "We're here now."

"Yes, we are here, but we should _not_ be," Zevran reminded them in a flinty voice. "I thought I told you two to stay downstairs."

"Is that Vaughan?" Nelaros released Kallian to peer at the mangled bodies on the floor. "Sweet Andraste. Zevran, did _you_ do this?"

"Time for stories later. Let's _go_." With a meaningful look at Kallian, Zevran strode into the hall, preparing to lead the exodus back to the Alienage. Soris and Nesiara followed, but Zevran had barely taken four steps when a cry from the room sent him dashing back.

From around the opposite corner, a wounded man sagged against the wall, his hand stuffed into the bleeding hole in his belly. The other hand held a throwing dagger, and Zevran arrived just in time to see it leave his fist.

Barely a blink, and Nelaros grunted, folding around the blade buried in his stomach.

Kallian's shriek filled the room, and then she was running, a second dagger plucked from the floor by her lithe fingers. The man lived not three seconds more, her knife slicing through his neck, her teeth bared in a savage grimace. A crimson splatter painted the wall to her right as the man gurgled his last breath, sliding down to land in a lifeless heap. Kallian towered over her victim, chest heaving, her hand gripping the dagger as though her life depended upon it.

Frozen he might have been by Kallian's bold move, but as Nelaros crumpled Zevran sprang forward, catching him and easing him to the ground.

The movement drew Kallian's glance. "Nelaros," she cried, skidding back across the room. She slid into a kneel beside him, her eyes darting as she assessed. "No..."

Her betrothed coughed, his eyes rolling, his skin gone pale.

"It isn't good," Zevran said grimly. "Belly wounds never are. We may save him if we act fast. Your jerkin."

"Maker be with us," Nesiara whispered, the whites of her eyes showing as she huddled in Soris' embrace. A whispered prayer flowed from her lips as Kallian shrugged out of her jerkin and thrust it at Zevran. The rogue nicked it with his knife and tore a long strip from one side, carefully binding the wound but leaving the knife in place.

"Should we-"

"No," Zevran replied quickly. "The blade is stopping more blood flow right now. He needs a healer before it can be removed."

"Kal..." Nelaros whispered, then coughed again. He lifted a hand, reaching for her.

"Don't talk, Nelaros." She wove her fingers with his, dropping a kiss on the back of his hand. Her green eyes shimmered with tears.

"Love... you," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Kallian's eyes lifted to lock with Zevran's, bright with pain and sadness, and he gave her a nod, his own heart withering.

Kallian leaned down to brush Nelaros' mouth with hers. "I love you, too," she murmured. "My husband."

Through the agony that filmed his eyes, Nelaros smiled. His other hand shook, but he seemed determined - from a low pocket on his shirt, he retrieved a simple gold band. When he slipped it onto Kallian's fourth finger, she broke down, her forehead dropping to his chest. Grief shook her shoulders as she cried, and Nelaros lifted one hand to smooth her hair back. "Take... care of her, Zevran," he forced out. "Prom...ise me."

The quiet pain in Nelaros' eyes told its own story, and Zevran wondered if the elf knew of his own love for Kallian. Nelaros wasn't stupid. Simple, perhaps, but not stupid, and everyone in the Alienage had seen him rush to Kallian's rescue. "I promise, my friend," Zevran nodded, his heart aching. When he'd joked with Kallian about how they could wish death on the man she was doomed to marry, never had he suspected they might have been prophesying this terrible future. Much as he'd loathed the idea of sending Kallian into his rival's arms, never in a thousand ages would he have wished this fate for Nelaros. The man had a simple goodness, a hope for a home and children; a hope that Zevran himself was only beginning to understand.

Guilt plagued him. Had he killed Vaughan when he'd wanted, Nelaros wouldn't have died. Had he kept himself from falling for Leliana, his heart never would have broken, he'd never have gone to the Pearl with Oghren and never would have walked through the city to witness the attack in the Alienage. Had he never taken the contract on Lyra and Alistair, he might have simply died in Antiva as many Crows did. The hair on the back of his neck rose at this thought - that perhaps Lady Fate had seen fit to take Nelaros in his place.

Nelaros shuddered, his breath thick with blood. A few last labored risings of his chest and he slipped away, his final breath expiring in a wheezing sigh. His hand slid from Kallian's hair, the spark of life vanished from his staring eyes.

Kallian's fingers curled into Nelaros' shirt, her sobs the only noise in the quiet room.

"Kallian..." Zevran hesitated, then laid a gentle hand on her back. "I am sorry."

She said nothing, only curled tighter around the man she'd been promised to. Zevran ached for her, for the pain she'd experienced and for the tragedy she'd witnessed, and he swallowed the jealousy that mounted. Nelaros was dead; there was no more rivalry, real or imagined. If _he_ felt guilty for his part in their deception, what must Kallian feel at this instant?

His sensitive ears picked up the sound of the front door opening downstairs. Alarm threaded his bones, and jerking his head toward the entryway, he hissed at Soris and Shianni, who scurried into the room with Nesiara in tow.

"Shut it?" Shianni asked, her tense eyes flicking toward the door.

Zevran nodded, his eyes scanning the room. There had to be some other way out - there was _always_ another way out - but somehow, they'd found themselves in a windowless chamber. Zevran leapt to his feet, darting around the corner where Nelaros' killer had come from, hoping for an exit. Nothing but a nook met his eyes, complete with loveseat and potted fern. _Braska!_

"Zev," Kallian's tight voice cracked, her eyes fixated on the door.

From the hallway, metallic clanking and thudding echoed, and Zevran's mental curse became a verbal one. "_Braska!_ There's always something..." He flipped back the ornate rug on the floor, praying for a trapdoor. Smooth floorboards met his vision, and Zevran threw the carpet back with a violent motion.

"Zevran!"

"I _know_!" he spat through clenched teeth, his eyes wild as he searched for anything - _anything_ that could ensure their escape!

Shianni groped for Nesiara's hand, and the elven lass began whimpering once more, her fright palpable. Soris' hand went to his blade, his nervous eyes trained on the door.

Kallian still knelt by Nelaros, but now she rose, the dagger that had killed him sliding free as her fingers wrapped around the leather hilt. Blood dripped from the blade, ruby droplets shimmering over the silvered edge. "Soris," she said softly. "You say nothing."

"What?"

"Nothing, you hear me?" Kallian's head whipped sideways, her intense eyes pinning her cousin to the spot. "You did nothing wrong, and I won't have you suffer for my crimes."

Panic rose in Zevran's chest. "Kallian? What are you-"

"You too, Antiva." Her emerald eyes softened as she turned to him. "No heroics. Only one of us has to go down for this, and I'm the one splattered with blood - it might as well be me." Grim humor touched her lips. "It isn't even lying - I killed every bastard in here."

"I killed one!" Shianni said, indignant.

Kallian chuckled. "You did, love. You were brilliant."

"Kallian, no-" Zevran felt himself smothering, but before he could do or say anything else the door opened, revealing three men of the city's watch.


	14. The Truth

_A/N: I'm flying solo on this chapter... no beta. It's a bit frightening, to tell you the truth. I haven't posted an un-beta'd chapter to one of my main storylines in a year. And I'm not certain this is coming across perfectly. Also, writing has been difficult lately with my busy schedule, and so I felt a bit awkward at my keyboard earlier... You've probably noticed lack of updates, or maybe you've been reading tons of other amazing fanfic (good for you!)... but either way, I hope you enjoy. This was a long time in coming for poor Zevran. Thanks for reading. :-)_

* * *

**Chapter 14  
The Truth  
**

Blackness. Utter and absolute.

Zevran opened his eyes, then shut them, then opened them again. Other than the feeling of his lids pressing together, there was nothing else to indicate that he'd actually woken. He could see nothing, had no idea if there was a wall two inches from his face or if he'd been dumped into the center of a cavernous chamber. But the more he blinked, the more he noticed.

Pain was the first thing, dark and nebulous as it pulsed beneath his temple. Cold, and grit beneath his cheek, the air musty with the smell of rock and water. His clothing damp, the light cottons and buttery leathers clinging to skin gone clammy with chill and sweat.

"Antiva?"

Zevran's heart clenched. He'd been huddled on his side, but now he struggled to rise, hissing at the agony that shot through his head when he managed to push himself up off the floor. "Kallian!"

"Thank the Maker... I was starting to think you'd never wake up."

Her weakened voice broke his heart. The sound came from somewhere ahead of him, off to the right, and he dragged himself forward a few inches before giving up. Wherever they were - a cell, he'd wager - he'd been hurt, and badly. "Are you well?"

"Well as I can be, I guess." A sad laugh punctuated the end of her statement. "How's your head?"

Wincing, Zevran touched his right temple, biting back a grunt of pain. "It rests upon my shoulders. Aside from that..."

"They really knocked you good." Breathy now, her distress clear. "Antiva, why'd you do that?"

Slowly, the last hour he could recall filtered back into his brain. The guards arriving at Vaughan's house, Kallian's confession, his own mad attempt to keep them from arresting her. Sergeant Kylon arriving, the order to restrain him, his own panic spinning him into berserker mode...

Elves, as it turned out, made miserable berserkers.

"I could not let them take you, my blossom."

Her heavy sigh complemented the dreary setting. "Fat lot of good it did you. Now we're _both_ in here. You and Soris could have gone free, you know."

"Kallian..." he swallowed, moistening his swollen tongue. "Why did you confess so easily? Between the two of us, we could have escaped. There were only a few of them, easily overpowered."

Silence for a moment. "I dunno. I didn't want you arrested I guess."

"I would never have left you to such a fate..."

"But maybe you should have," she blurted, her voice strained. "I mean, look at me. I got myself caught in the forest - you _told_ me to keep my blade to myself, but I couldn't help it. Vaughan showed up and - I could have cowered, groveled a little, and he might have had a little fun with me and let me go. But no..." The words were drawled, dripping with disgust. "I had to go waving my sword around, challenge him to do something about it. Damn it! I _hate_ humans!"

"Not all are like Vaughan," he offered. "I have had many human friends."

"Where are they n_ow_?" she bit out. "Any of them coming to get you?"

"One can hope," he said, attempting a cheerful jibe. But the smile did nothing but send another sharp pain caroming through his head, and he settled his face back into neutral. "Where is Soris?"

"They're questioning him," she replied. "They've dragged me off twice already, and him once. With luck, he's doing what I told him and saying he didn't do anything."

"Kallian, you haven't confessed, have you?"

"Of course," she said staunchly. "I'm guilty, after all. And you'd better not screw this up, Antiva. I'll get sent to a prison camp, most likely, but it'll only be ten years or so-"

"Ten _years_?! She says as if it was nothing!"

"Ten years - unless you break me out." The unmistakable verve in her voice was almost funny. "How hard can it be? We'll figure it out. This way, though, I'm the only one to blame. If we'd escaped, Zevran - what do you think would have happened to the other elves?"

He sighed.

"Exactly," she finished for him, taking his tired noise as answer. "And I couldn't let that happen. I'd rather live a hunted criminal than risk anyone else in my family being hurt or threatened. Shianni, Soris - they're too young to deal with this crap."

He said nothing, his head aching too much to respond. There was no way he'd allow her to be sentenced. She'd killed a _human nobleman..._ Zevran would have bet his best boots that the punishment for such a thing was a bit more than ten years breaking rocks.

Anything he might have said was interrupted by the creak of rusty hinges, and Zevran squinted against the sudden beam from a lantern held aloft. A disembodied hand carried the light, and as Zevran's eyes adjusted he made out the gaoler belonging to the hand. Another followed behind, and Zevran took the opportunity to inspect his prison before they stole the brightness away again.

Cells. His own looked roughly six by six, with rough stone for the floors and bars on three sides. The back wall was more rock, gleaming with minerals and damp as the ray of mock sun glinted in the blackness. A simple lock built into the metal - laughable. Across the way, Kallian sat cross-legged on the floor of another cell, one hand raised to shield her vision against the lantern's invasive glare. She seemed unharmed, though her clothing and hair remained matted and gummed with blood and sweat.

The guard stopped just inside the door, his hand lifting the lantern to shine the way for a third person, decked in a pale cloak with a voluminous hood. "Thank you," a low voice murmured from within the fabric, and Zevran's eyes widened.

"Call if you have need of us, Majesty," the first guard said in a gruff voice, then both men bowed and exited after affixing the lantern to the wall.

Kallian's green eyes flew wide as feminine hands folded back the cloth from a cultured face, though it hid her rounding figure. Shining dark hair had been tucked into a neat bun at the back of her head, Lyra Theirin's blue eyes roaming the jail before coming to rest on Zevran. Those eyes tapered as the queen strode forward to kneel before his cell. "Zev," she said softly.

"_Bella flor_, where is the man who is supposed to guard your very life?" Zevran demanded in an indignant voice. "Irresponsible, both of you. This damp air cannot be healthy."

"As if damp air could keep me away." A wry twist of her lips as she delved into an inner pocket of her cloak. "Alistair is meeting with the nobility, trying to clean up the mess you made. They wouldn't let me bring Anders - Wynne's besides herself, you know. She's dying to come down here and see you. But she's got no strength for healing... not anymore, anyway. She sent this, instead." A shimmering blue flask was pressed into his hands, and Zevran didn't hesitate to lever the cork free and put the glass to his lips. The first sips were soothing if bitter, clearing his headache and his vision. Aside from magical healing, no one could concoct a potion like Wynne. Sighing with relief, he lowered the flask, then urged Lyra to give some to Kallian.

"Forgive me... I should have offered it to you first," Lyra said in a soft voice as she turned to Kallian. "Are you badly hurt?"

"You're the queen, aren't you?" Kallian squeaked, her gaze locked on Lyra's face. "He - the guard - he called you _Majesty_!_"_

"Oh. Yes." Lyra fed her a slight smile, then waved the potion in her direction. "Take it. This will heal you, you know. You look a bit bloody."

Kallian's frightened eyes stared, unblinking, at her monarch. Still as a statue, she couldn't have looked more flabbergasted if Andraste herself had appeared and begun standing on her head.

"Oh, Maker," Lyra sighed, turning back to the assassin. "Zevran?"

"She is a woman, just as you are, my Kallian." Zevran reached through the bars, wishing more than anything he could take his love's hand in his own. "She is a warrior, just as you are, and she brings you healing - do not refuse her. She means well."

Kallian's fingers twitched as Lyra offered the flask once more, then she snatched it and drank deeply. Relaxation spread over her pained features, her heavy gulps draining the rest of the precious fluid. One arm dragged across her mouth as she thrust the flask back at the queen, who tucked it safely into her cloak once more. Wariness replaced the shock, and Kallian scooted to the back of the cell, distrust masking her beautiful features.

"I came today to find out the truth of what happened," Lyra said then. "In your own words. There's all sorts of rumors flying about - we heard the formal bit from Kylon, but I need to know. _Alistair _needs to know. Please, Kallian... Zevran." She glanced from elf to elf, her eyes entreating. "Your lives depend upon it."

Kallian threw Zevran a glance, her distrustful eyes flicking from him to Lyra and back again.

"I know the first part, so we can skip that," Lyra continued. "Leliana told me what happened in the Alienage. You have no idea how worried I was when she didn't show up at the ball..." The sad ghost of a smile teased the queen's mouth. "We had some excitement of our own to contend with."

Her words put Zevran on instant alert. "What happened?"

"Empress Celene tried to poison Alistair."

Zevran swore.

"By _kissing_ him."

Zevran swore again, with more feeling than before. Such was his frustration that he forgot Kallian sitting in the corner, drinking in every word. "This is exactly what I was afraid of. And I would wager that Alistair never even suspected."

"None of us did," Lyra agreed. "You were right... we need those guards."

"And I am in prison," Zevran grumbled. "What royal magic can you work to get us out?"

Lyra hesitated. "It doesn't look good, Zev. Alistair just passed that law - the one about elves openly carrying weapons - and it's already caused problems. He's had a bit of trouble with the Chantry lately, and now this... we have to tread very carefully here. I know Kylon wants to question you further, but the nobility are crying out for blood."

"Vaughan was a cursed rapist," Zevran said through grit teeth. "Why _anyone_ should be punished for his death-"

"His death, maybe not. But his father's... what in the Maker's cold void happened, Zevran?"

Zevran blinked, taken aback. "Arl Urien? He is dead?"

"He was found in his room, as if asleep, his throat sliced open." Lyra's sharp eyes bored through him. "You didn't know of his death?"

"I walked into the manse and saw Kallian and the girls surrounded by the corpses of Vaughan and his friends. Ten minutes later I was being carted to prison with a stone-sized lump on my head. Why would anyone kill Arl Urien?"

He was interrupted by the tiny _tink _of a pebble dropping to the floor. Zevran's gaze flew to Kallian, whose idle fingers scooped the pebble back up, only to drop it again. With a hefty sigh, Kallian huddled herself into a ball, her arms wrapping around her knees. Their continued silence drew her attention a moment later. "What?"

"Did you kill him?"

Kallian gasped at him, indignant. "What are you saying?"

"Kallian, we have to know," Lyra said. "An Arl and his only son lie dead, and _you_ were in the house where they died, covered in blood and holding a dagger. The city guard reported that you insisted you were the only one who did any killing. So..." she allowed the words to trail away.

Kallian gaped. "I never did any such thing!" Her eyes flashed. "Why would I kill anyone other than Vaughan? Arl Urien never gave the elves any trouble... well, not beyond anything any _normal _human would do. Not like Vaughan. Urien was just an old man!"

"He was in power," Lyra pointed out. "He ruled Denerim - and by extension, the Alienage - for many years. Your whole lifetime. It would have been easy enough for you to make sure both of them were dead-"

"It's a filthy lie!" Kallian spat through clenched teeth. Even in the low light her eyes shimmered with righteous anger. "Vaughan deserved to be gutted, he had it coming to him, and I'd kill him again without a second though. But I would never murder anyone who didn't deserve it - especially an old man asleep in his bed!"

"You have to admit it looks bad," Lyra pointed out. "Can you offer me any proof that you _didn't_ do it?"

"How about 'I've never killed anyone in cold blood before'," Kallian said snidely. "Can you say the same, _majesty_?"

Lyra's compassionate eyes turned to stone.

"Kallian speaks the truth," Zevran put in. "_Bella flor_-"

"Be that as it may." Frost rimed each word. "It doesn't look good. I'll do what I can to get you out, Zevran. As for Kallian... it may not be that simple."

"I don't care," Kallian snarled. "Lock me up. It's no worse than what you _shem_ have always done to us. I suppose you're going to revoke the law, too?"

"No, the law stands." Lyra's steady gaze drilled into the defiant elf. "Alistair is a man of his word. Elves will retain the right to carry weaponry and join the army and the guard. It's past time they were allowed to do so." Her judgmental eyes slid over Kallian. "There are bad apples in any bushel. It's only a matter of finding them before they can spoil the rest."

Kallian glowered, her fingers wrapping around the bars of her cell. "You don't know me, human."

"And I never shall, if your attitude fails to improve." Lyra flashed an imperious glare at the girl, turning then to Zevran. "Give me a day. I'll get you out of here."

"I cannot leave," Zevran insisted. "Not without Kallian."

"Then trust me when I say you'll hang with her." Lyra's words were dipped with pain. "Don't make that choice, Zev... we all love you too much to see you destroy yourself that way." Gentle fingers reached out to touch his face, and then the queen was gone, disappearing back through the door but leaving the lamp behind.

"Hang?!" Kallian squeaked. "She can't mean it! I'm innocent!"

Zevran's stomach churned. "Please, Kallian, tell me you did not kill the Arl." If she _had_ committed such a crime, there would be no saving her. Zevran had hoped to cobble together enough evidence to prove self defense, but _this_...

"What?! Of course I didn't!" Kallian cried. "I killed the ones who attacked me, who tried to hurt Shianni and Nesiara! That's _all_!"

"Then believe me, my blossom. I will not rest until you walk free."

Kallian slumped away from the bars, her face bleak. "What can _you _do? You're just an elf... and she's a human, with all the power. And I actually thought... wait." Recognition sparked in her eyes, and she rose up on her knees, her fingers lifting to touch the cold metal once more. "Wait... she _knew_ you."

Zevran swallowed, his heart flinching at Kallian's accusing tone. Mind racing, he forced a chuckle. "Of course Queen Lyra knows me. I am Lord Oghren's servant, and in that role I have waited upon her many times."

"No." Kallian shook her head, her knuckles whitening as her grip on the bars tightened. "She _knew you_. And you knew her. You called her something - _bella_ something. Like a nickname. And-" A maelstrom of emotions danced over her face. Betrayal, confusion, realization. "She was way too friendly. What did she mean, 'we all love you too much?' Who's _we_, Antiva?"

"The household," Zevran said, desperate. "Lord Oghren, Anders. King Alistair has grown fond of me, as well-"

"Bullshit!" Kallian cried. "She said - damn it! What did she say? Something about how a healer wanted to come see you? What human healer sends potions to a lowly elven servant? Why should they care so much? And you talked to her about guards of some kind? Like... what, you're a damned advisor?" Kallian's voice rose another octave. "What's going on, Zevran?"

"Nothing, my blossom! I am a simple manservant. I have... charisma, charm. Many people love me. Did you not fall prey to this yourself?"

"Too much so," she snapped in a pained voice. "No one is that charming. You're lying to me. Aren't you?"

The half second of silence that followed was one half second too long. "Kallian-"

"Damn it! You _are_!" The raw shredding of tears had infiltrated her voice, and the sound tore Zevran's heart in two. "I knew this was all too good to be true! I knew it!"

Kallian buried her face in her hands, shrinking away from her prison and his hand that reached out.

"Please, my blossom," Zevran said desperately. His eyes raked the bars, seeking the laughable lock. A mere keyhole, large enough to drive a wagon through, simple enough for even a babe in arms. Patting his pockets, he reached instead behind his head and slid free the hairpin he kept tucked into one of his braids. Silly, some of the Crows had said, but when one had been stripped of one's lockpicks, having a hidden length of metal had often proved invaluable.

Zevran paused for a moment, cooling his need to rush to her. No sound echoed from the outer chamber, and so he made quick work of the lock, testing his door for unoiled hinges half a heartbeat later. Indeed, creaky as an old woman. Zev slipped through as soon as he'd widened the space enough, then opened her lock in half an instance.

Kallian's eyes snapped up as her lock clicked open. "Holy shit," she breathed. "What-"

"You are right," he said in a crisp voice. "I am not as I appear. I have many skills, I have done many things and been many places. But one thing is certain, my darling. You are the thing I care for most in the world, and I would move heaven and earth to ensure your safety."

Her lower lip vanished between her teeth, her suspicious eyes shadowed by lashes dappled with wetness. "So tell me the truth. ...who are you?"

"First, Kallian... please. May I hold you in my arms?"

She shook her head, scooting herself back on the stone. The trust that had so often sparkled in her eyes was gone, replaced by steely guard. Her arms wound around her knees once more. "Talk first."

Zevran's eyes fell shut, an apprehensive breath slumping his shoulders. The moment of... well, truth. And it was every bit as frightening as he'd been dreading.

Graceful as a shadowcat, he folded himself down to sit cross-legged before her. Perhaps if he simply told her, as quickly as possible. "My name, you know. I am Zevran Arainai, born in Antiva, just as I told you when first we met. What you do not know is... I am... not the servant of Lord Oghren. At a young age, I became an Antivan Crow - an... assassin. I came to Ferelden on a contract; to kill the Wardens Lyra Cousland and Alistair Theirin."

The whites of Kallian's eyes showed, ringing vivid green. "The king and queen," she croaked.

"Indeed. Though they were not such when first we met." Zevran detailed his ambush, how Lyra had been wounded by a poisoned arrow, how Alistair had been inches from killing him until Leliana intervened. How they'd marched him back to Redcliffe, how he'd spent the night in the dungeon, awaiting news. He left out how he'd been torn between worry that the young Warden would die from his poison, and worry that she would not. He spoke of Wynne's saving of Lyra's life, and how he'd begun his adventures with the Wardens and their strange party. He told her of Orzammar, and meeting Oghren.

"Not 'Lord Oghren', then," Kallian uttered, her cool voice chilling his heart.

"Ahh... no."

Kallian waved an impatient hand, inviting him to continue.

By the time he'd detailed the last, how he'd helped the Wardens kill the Archdemon, how he'd sworn to himself to aid the new rulers in every way that he could, Kallian had relaxed her posture. Her eyes had turned downward, one idle finger tracing patterns upon the floor. His words ceased, and her silence continued, stretching out and coiling around them both until Zevran felt as if it might choke him.

"Please, my pear blossom. Please, say _something_."

Still, silence. Zevran was on the verge of crawling across the floor to take her hands in his - when his sharp ears caught the faint echo of boots in the outer hall.

"Stay there," he hissed, slipping through her door and pulling it shut. The lock engaged with the clank of iron, and another breath saw him safe in his own cell, secured behind metal bars.


	15. The Vow

_**A/N: **So sorry this took so long! Many thanks to all of you for sticking around. :-)_

* * *

**Chapter 15  
****The Vow**_**  
**_

Bands of light cut the gloom as the ancient door opened, hinges screeching in protest. Soris shuffled in, his arms tied before him with a length of thin rope. The gaoler kept one easy hand on his shoulder, guiding the youngster toward the cell beside Kallian's. Soris didn't struggle as his cell was unlocked but went meekly within, his head bowing as the door was secured behind him once more.

Reaching through the bars, the guard untied Soris' hands and re-coiled the rope. The gaoler grunted then, his eyes swinging to Zevran. "You're awake."

"You are extremely observant," Zevran countered.

The man ignored his flippant tone, taking the few necessary steps to Kallian's cell. "The queen says you should get a bath. Come on." His key in the lock echoed as it disengaged the tumblers.

"Captain – Sergeant – Ser, is there a female guard who can attend her?" Zevran's hands wrapped around the steel bars, a note of panic fluttering his heart. "I have seen only males. You must admit, this is not seemly—"

"Queen Lyra awaits without. She's chaperoning the whole thing." He turned a bored look on Zevran. "You seem awfully interested in her well-being, elf. She belong to you or something?"

"No."

The single word stopped Zevran's heart. Widened eyes shot to Kallian, who'd risen to her feet. She refused to meet his gaze, focusing instead on the gaoler as he opened her cell door. "I belong to no one, least of all him."

Zevran opened his mouth to protest, to beg her to change her mind, to try and stop his world from spiraling out of control. But the gaoler's interested glance shut him down. For now, better to pretend. If you loved nothing, then nothing could be used against you.

Though Zevran had the sinking feeling that Kallian wasn't pretending.

Once out of the cell, the guard bound her hands and led her up the few steps and out of the dungeon. Security was so lax that Zevran was amazed. Any number of opportunities could have been taken to enact an escape. Perhaps these guards dealt so rarely with prisoners that it never occurred to them just how feeble their methods were.

The door swung shut, leaving the two elves alone in their cells once more.

"Hey, you woke up," Soris said. "Did I miss anything?"

* * *

It was a full hour before Kallian returned, skin shining and pink. She wore new clothing as well, her old leathers gone in favor of simple cloth breeches and linen shirt; similar to what Zevran had seen Lyra herself wear often around camp during the Blight. Kallian refused to speak to Zevran, though she did answer her cousin, telling him not to worry, let it be.

Soris' gaze flicked between Zevran and Kallian, the concern on his face plain to see. Zevran hadn't told him much – why bother? The lad didn't know of his relationship with Kallian; it had been kept secret from everyone. No use filling him in now… not if it was over.

Her words writhed in Zevran's head, chasing in dizzy circles. For an hour he'd thought of little else. _I belong to no one, least of all him._ Swift judgement, harsh and clearcut. Just like that, and everything they'd shared was worthless in her eyes? Was his crime so great? So he'd lied to her. Who _didn't_ stretch the truth from time to time? Deceit had saved his life on more than one occasion. Even Ferelden's newest heroes couldn't be called perfectly honest, no matter what glowing light Leliana's songs painted them in. Alistair had willingly disguised himself as a Chantry brother to infiltrate Howe's estate when Lyra was kidnapped. Did that make him a criminal?

Well, fine. Yes. Even Ferelden's king couldn't be called innocent. Which was the point. Zevran's untruth had come from a place of goodness, had it not? What gave Kallian the right to judge him thusly? The more he considered, the more his ire rose. What made _her_ so high and mighty?

"You are no better than me," he whispered through the darkness. "Everyone deceives."

Kallian ignored him.

"You fled Denerim, ran for your own selfish reasons," he continued in a relentless hiss. "Lied to your father, to your betrothed—"

"It's different," she spat, teeth clenched. "Don't you _dare_ compare yourself to me."

"Why?" he challenged, rising to the occasion. "You cannot seriously call an end to this because I kept a few things to myself."

"A few things?" She rounded on him, those green eyes bright with danger. "A _few things?!"_

"Yes!"

"What are you two talking about?" Soris' confused whisper interrupted them, to no effect. Neither Kallian nor Zevran acknowledged the young elf as their heated staring contest continued.

"It's about _morality,_ Zevran," Kallian continued in a harsh whisper. "You deceived me from the very beginning. Invented a pack of lies meant to keep me in the dark."

"There was no need for you to know my past," Zevran argued. "Why should you have been burdened with that? I did it to protect you."

"You did it to protect yourself!" Kallian cried, her tone rising at last. "If you'd really cared, you would have _told_ me from the start!"

"And how was I to know how you would take it? This is what I did _not_ want, for you to dismiss me like so much trash beneath your feet. Is it any wonder I kept it from you?"

"Kept what?" Soris asked, bewildered.

"Nothing," Kallian muttered. "Not your concern."

"You are being foolish," Zevran insisted, ignoring Soris. "The past is gone. I am here_ now_. I am the same Zevran, you are the same Kallian. Why should it matter what I was, or what you knew? Why do you care so much what I told you?"

"Because that's what a relationship _is_, Antiva." Fingers curled at her sides, fine lines carving her forehead as her brows dipped inward. "Everything we had, everything you told me – all of it was a lie. How can I trust anything you say, anything you are? Ever? You just… made it all up, said whatever you needed to get in my pants."

Zevran dared a glance at Soris, whose eyes had gone wide as saucers. _So much for secrecy,_ Zevran thought with a roll of his eyes.

"No. We're done." Kallian yanked her fingers through her blonde tresses, shaking them out as they dried. "I won't be made a fool of anymore."

"So that's it." The words tasted bitter. "You are simply finished with me. None of what we shared means anything to you."

Kallian ignored him, continuing to finger-comb her hair.

"Fine." Resentment bloomed in Zevran's chest, his throat aching as he watched the most important thing in his life slip from his grasp. "You have something that belongs to me."

Kallian didn't hesitate. Shaking hands rose to her ear, fumbling at the diamond stud he'd gifted her with. She swore as she struggled, her head jerking as it came free at last. "Take it, crow." The shining bauble launched a few feet across their cells, Zevran's hand rising to snatch it from the air. It was automatic, a reflex… but now that he held the stone in his fingers the ache in his chest tightened into deep despair.

It was over.

* * *

He and Soris were released a few hours later. Apparently Alistair and Lyra had worked some sort of magic, or the guards had decided to believe Kallian's repeated insistence that she'd been the only murderer among them. Either way, Kallian said nothing more to him, and he did not try to change her mind. If she was going to be so stubborn, why should he stick his neck out?

The gaoler opened their cells, and Soris rushed to Kallian's side. "Kal—"

"Just go, Soris," she said in a calm voice, her fingers curving over his as he gripped the iron bars that confined her. "I'll be okay."

"I'll get you out," Soris said in a fervent voice. "I'll… I don't know, I'll do something!"

"Keep walking, elf," the gaoler said in a bored voice, clamping a hang on the young man's shoulder.

With a grimace, Soris gave Kallian's fingers a last squeeze before he allowed himself to be led away. As soon as her cousin had passed by, Kallian turned from the bars, her shoulders hunching as she wrapped her arms around herself. Zevran lingered, his feet refusing to shuffle out. It couldn't just _end_. What had happened? Where had they gone wrong?

Kallian sank to the floor, still facing away. Eyes slipping shut, Zevran turned to go.

"Antiva."

One word, and he was back, ready to do anything she asked. "Yes."

She hesitated, perhaps hearing the emotion he'd poured into a single syllable. "Look…. Take care of Soris and Shianni for me. And my father."

That was all? A request that he watch over those she left behind? But… would she ask if she felt nothing for him? Hope bloomed in his heart once more. "You shall care for them yourself, my blossom."

A mocking laugh echoed from the stones that walled her in. "Ever the optimist."

"Out, elf," the gaoler called. "I close this door in three breaths."

"I will not let you hang," Zevran swore, backing toward the door. "Have faith, Kallian. I—" Here he faltered, the words catching on his lips. Words he'd never said, words he'd only ever thought, only ever dared in the most feverish and unlikely of dreams. Words that came so easily to most, but had only ever tasted poisonous in his own mouth. But now they rose, begging release, clattering through his mind in an eager frenzy. "Kallian…"

The gaoler grabbed his arm and tossed him roughly through the door.

* * *

From Fort Drakon it was a long jog across Denerim, his mind racing as he sorted out everything that needed doing if Kallian's life was to be saved. His cause could not be over before it truly began.

He'd allowed Rinna to die, stood by and done nothing while Taliesin ended her life in a frightening gout of crimson. He'd chased Leliana for months, languishing in denial of the fact that he'd fallen for a woman he could never have. But Kallian was neither dead nor unavailable – her words had been harsh, but the small spark that had lit between them at the very end was unmistakable. Wasn't it?

Either way, Zevran wasn't about to give up yet. Not while he drew breath. Not while there was a chance she might be saved, a chance that they might yet get the happy ending that had been so close at hand.

As a Crow, he'd seen more intrigue, scheming and dastardly plots than most witnessed in a lifetime. It was his profession. If he could not solve this mystery, then he did not deserve the title.

Facts first. Kallian swore that she had _not_ killed the Arl. Therefore, someone else had. And even now, Zevran had a fairly good idea of who it might have been… all he required was the proof.

_Find the one who stands to gain the most_. Easy enough. Arl Urien's death could benefit blessed few, his one and only son being the exception. Vaughan Kendalls, the cursed ass who'd kidnapped the women from the alienage.

Vaughan's words came back to him - _My father isn't the one running things. Not anymore._The man had all but shouted it. Any court would try him under suspicion alone… if he were not dead.

It was too easy; it made too much sense, really. Would Vaughan have done something so obvious in the name of gaining the Arl's seat? Surely Zevran was not the only one to see that possibility. Gossip and speculation should be high, if Zevran knew anything about nobility and their love of scandal. Such doings had been his bread and butter once. He could use it to his advantage.

The murder had happened only the previous evening. Fereldans typically cremated their dead, and in the case of nobility it wasn't unusual for there to be a period of preparation; the body treated with oils and salves while prayers were chanted over the corpse. He had time to investigate, if he moved quickly.

But first, he had to speak to the rulers.

The huge castle doors swung open to admit him, the guards all but cheering as he jogged up the steps. "Master Zevran!" one of them cried. "You're back!"

"Indeed I am." He slapped a pleased grin on his face, ever conscious of the role he must play. "I never doubted it for a second."

"Everyone'll be glad to hear it," the second guard said, his voice filled with relief. "There was a riot among the trainees when they heard you'd been arrested. They wanted to storm the dungeons and demand your release. You've been the main topic of conversation all day."

"Have I." His feet slid further inward, seeking escape from pointless conversation. One hand rose to touch his heart. "I am touched that you would think of me so highly. But now I must go, my friends. Feel free to spread the word of my release. Tell as many as you like."

"How'd you get out, though?" They stepped toward him, eager for news. "They'll want to know the details!"

"Ah, the details… I shall tell first to the king and queen. You understand." Zevran assumed a grave expression. "I am certain the explanations shall reach you soon enough. Now, if you will excuse me." Spinning on his heel, Zevran took off before they could call him back, vowing not to stop again until he'd spoken with Lyra and Alistair. The sooner he could see the arl's body, the more he could deduce.

And if his suspicions were correct, there was much to be learned.


End file.
